Chuck versus Topeka
by Robert Modean
Summary: AU - Chuck finds out about the termination order and runs for it. Now it's two and a half years later and he's stuck in Topeka, with Casey and Sarah closing in. But he's tired of running, and he's sick of the man he's become. What will happen to Chuck?
1. Chapter 1: You Cant Keep a Good Man Down

Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own nor am I involved with the production of _Chuck._ On the plus side, I work cheap so if Zach is reading this - call me.

**Synopsis**: Chuck has been on the run from Casey and Sarah for the last two and a half years. He's tired of running and his car has broken down on the Missouri – Kansas border. He hitches a ride with a long haul trucker and the man's easy nature prompts a troubled Chuck to unburden himself. While talking he contemplates what brought him here, and how running from his fate has made him a different, and not necessarily better, man.

_A/N: This story started forming in my mind when I heard the song Topeka by the St Louis band Ludo. I've wanted to do something like this since reading '__**Sarah vs Green Bay**__' by __**Moe32**__, and '__**If Love Was Enough**__' by __**Janeway1390**__. Both of these are excellent stories about two possible Chuck/Sarah futures and I can't recommend them enough._

_A/N: Adult language and situations apply._

**Chuck versus Topeka - Chapter One – You Can't Keep a Good Man Down**

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The smooth brow furrowed in frustration forcing a long wide scar to turn white. Curly locks of brown hair and dark eyes looked back at him in the rearview mirror. With a curse on his lips against old men and Oldsmobiles he tried the key again, and again he was rewarded with a slow sputtering start that rapidly died. If the car was a horse he'd have shot it by now. Swearing loudly he tried to turn the engine over again, this time there was nothing. He cursed again, this time he was cursing himself. He should have known better, it was such a rookie mistake. Never buy a getaway car without having a mechanic check it out first. Hell the old man even told him the catalytic converter needed to be replaced, now it had failed him. _'Probably clogged up since the engine wouldn't even start.' He thought._

A sigh of resignation escaped his lips and he cracks open his door, bracing against the cold, but the wind snaps the door out of his grasp and blows with such force it cuts through him like a knife. Walking to the back of the car he popped open the trunk and reached within to retrieve a large leather garment bag and a cheap looking canvas overnighter. The canvas bag possessed a small, cheap heart shaped lock that secured the zipper. He regards the lock with a smile. He'd learned a long time ago that it wasn't always the size or quality of a lock, it was the fact that it existed. Like so many things in life, just the appearance of something could change the course of events. Heaving his bags out of the trunk he slung them expertly over his shoulder and began to walk down the road. His steps were slow and deliberate, the crunch of road salt and cinders the only sound to break the silence, as a bitter wind blew and the light from a sliver of Moon cast a deathly pall about the land.

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The big rig roared down the deserted stretch of road highway. It was two in the morning and the only thing he'd seen in the past twenty minutes was an abandoned car nearly fifteen miles back. The radio was playing one of is favorite songs by Mojo Nixon and he was singing along tunelessly, the occasional howl of a large yellow lab his only accompaniment.

_Well I'm a squishin' armadilla's out on innerstate ten,_

_Headin' down to Houston once again,_

_When I see something' shootin' right across the sky..._

"Holy shit Elmer! Look what we got here." A large scarred hand reaches for the radio and turns down Mojo until his voice is just a whisper. A tall lanky figure was walking the shoulder, head bowed, two bags slung across his shoulder. "We better see if this fella needs a ride, ain't no night to be out walking that's for sure." He pulled the steering wheel hard to the right and the big truck eased onto the shoulder some hundred feet in front of the lonely figure. The Driver looked in his side mirror, the traveler showed no signs of running to catch the rig, but he was definitely heading for the cab. "Hmm, seems we got us a live one here Elmer."

The seconds ticked by until the passenger door to the big rig finally wrenched open. First thing to appear was a leather gloved hand followed by a mop of curly brown hair. The hair and the bag belonged to a young man in his late twenties. There was something about him, a friendly open face, a half grin that seemed to say 'hello', but his eyes were darting, tired, and wary. _'He's a runner,' Billie thought. 'I always seem to get runners and freaks.'_

"Please to meet ya'," the Driver extended a hand. "Name's William Rogers, but most folks call me Billie." The young man seemed to hesitate as his eyes glazed over for a second, then took the offered hand and gave him a very firm handshake. "An' this here's my best friend Elmer," the golden lab's tongue lolled out it's mouth and gave the young man a mighty lick and Billie smiled in approval as the young man rubbed and nuzzled his head in return. "So tell me young man, where you headed?"

"Denver."

"I can take you as far as Topeka, that okay?" It was a rhetorical question, no one wanted to walk on a cold Missouri winter's night with the February winds sweeping across the plains.

"Sounds good to me."

He pulled the big rig back onto the road, and as he got up to speed he evaluated the young man again. He hadn't given his name and his voice was tired, almost beaten. Billie had been driving for over forty years, and he'd learned to read people pretty good, but this young man was an enigma. He seemed to want to keep to himself, but the Billie didn't pick up hitchers for nothing, he wanted the company.

"So tell me young man," Billie gave him a sidelong glance. "You gotta name?"

"Charlie... I mean Chuck," the young man had hesitated.

"Well which is it, Charlie or Chuck?" Billie smiled back, but noticed the young man's face had gone cold.

"Chuck. It's my name, I-I just haven't heard it in a while."

"Sorry about that, Chuck. I didn't know."

"That's okay, no one is supposed to." Chuck was quiet, almost wistful.

"So what are you running from Chuck?"

"Why?"

"Why what? Why do I want to know? Because it's another two and a half hours from here to Topeka and I'm looking for some conversation." Billie gave him toothy grin.

"No, I mean why do you think I'm running away?"

"Son, I've been driving rigs like this for longer than I can remember, and in that time I've picked up a thousand folks just like you. After a while you can just tell."

"I see."

"Shit, you sure aren't much for talking are you?"

"Sorry." The young man hesitated, "I'm just wondering what to tell you."

"Why not try the truth?"

"I don't think you'd believe me."

"Try me."

Why not he thought? It's not like anyone Billie tells is going to believe him - he's a semi-retired small time hood who'd been employed by the Lombardi family as a fixer and did ten years in the Potosi Correctional Center. Even if someone does believe him, he'll be long gone. After two and a half years running from everything he knew, the urge to tell someone the truth, the whole unvarnished truth for once, it was like a drug. Like an alcoholic being offered a drink. He hesitated, smiling at the old man he shook his head.

"It's bad then?" Billie was interested now. "Gambling debts? The mob? A woman?"

"Sarah." The name escaped his lips before he knew what happened.

The old man smiled, the boy had girl problems and he knew girl problems. "Figures, It's always a woman. So who's this Sarah?"

"I don't really know," He grinned, but it was devoid of warmth or humor. "See, that's part of the problem."

"Okay, then let's start at the beginning." Billie's grin had faded, the boy was being obstinate. Still Billie could out stubborn a rock, so he tried again this time twice as friendly. "Tell me about this Sarah you don't really know." Billie tried to be jovial.

His face softened, "Sarah. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever known. Not just beautiful, she's perfect. She's smart and funny, strong, fearless, and she has a generous heart even if she doesn't always know it."

"Sounds like you got it bad there Chuck, so what's the problem? She already got a husband."

"No, its more an occupational hazard. See her job..." Chuck gave him a blank look. "Her job is to kill me."

He started to laugh, but the young man's face was dearly serious. "Maybe you should go back and tell me how this all happened."

Chuck looked at Billie, he was a large man with big beefy hands covered in a crisscross of scars, he had a nose that had been broken numerous times and reset badly at least once, a pockmarked face, and a sparse grizzled beard. The overall visage was one of a man who'd lived a rough life and come through the other side, a man not to be fucked with. Chuck knew from the Intersect that he'd done hard time, but not recently. It didn't matter, he wasn't really afraid of the older man even now. He had faced down hard characters before, heck in the last two years he'd dealt with men bigger and tougher than Billie and they'd wanted to kill him. In the end it was his eyes that finally convinced him to talk.

Something in Billie's eyes said the old man had experienced a world of hurt and pain, but still there was a twinkle of laughter in them. He was tired, tired of running, tired of lying, he just wanted to tell it all to someone, and these eyes were the eyes of a man who would understand.

"I was working at this Buy More and she came in to get her phone fixed, but that wasn't the real reason she was there..."

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Billie laughed again, another genuine from the gut belly laugh, and just like the ones before with each laugh his shoulders would jump up and down and his head would shake like a bobble doll's. He looked over at Chuck with tears in his eyes that were wiped away by the back of a beefy hand.

"Oh my damn Chuck, you don't half tell some whoppers do ya?!" Billie snorted as he tried to regain control of his breathing. "I gotta say this is the best story anyone's ever told me, sure as shit beats the normal 'lost my house, lost my car, my old lady's out to get me' crap I'm used to hearing."

"Glad you like it Billie" Chuck's voice was light, his face relaxed, but there was a glint in his eyes. "I guess it's funny if you aren't the one living it at the time."

"Ahh, shoot Chuck, it has to be a joke. I mean how do you expect a guy to believe you when you tell 'em that the two biggest spy agencies in the world jammed all their secrets into one computer and you got it stuck in your head?"

"Well when you put it like that" he chuckled quietly, "it does seem a bit far fetched."

"Yeah, but I ain't complaining mind you. It's one helluva story so far. I really like that bit about saving the world from nuclear war by playing video games while listening to that Rush band." He wiped a tear from his eye, "that one was a hoot."

"Yeah. I remember standing there with Sarah when they bounced the satellite off the atmosphere, she said I should make a wish. I should have wished for something different."

"What did you wish for? More money? A bigger dick?" Billie started laughing at his crude joke.

"No, I just wished I could spend every day of my life with her."

"I thought you said she was trying to kill you?"

"She is, but that doesn't mean I don't love her." Chuck smiled at Billie, "It's complicated."

Billie shook his head at Chuck, poor sap had it bad. "So did you ever get her?"

"I had her, for a while anyway..." Chuck's eyes seemed to lose focus as he stared out the window.

Billie looked again at the young man, he was funny, smart, told one helluva story and as crazy as a loon. He felt absentmindedly at the .38 revolver in his pocket, the comfortable weight of the snub nosed gun gave Billie some added reassurance. He was older than the kid, close to twice his age in fact, but he could still handle himself. But crazies? They were tough nuts to crack even if you were twice as strong and had a few years experience as a bare-knuckle fighter. He looked again at his now silent passenger, staring aimlessly out the window at the moonlight illuminated snowscape. _'Wonder what crazy thoughts he's thinking now?'_

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He curled his fingers loosely and brushed away the stray hairs that had fallen across her face. Then gently as he watched her eyelids for any sign of movement he allowed his fingertips to traced the outline of her lips. His caress gentle, his touch so delicate that she never stirred. He pulled his hand from her face and let his eyes follow the waves of golden hair that framed her face and cascaded down to her shoulders. Every contour of her body was a work of art, the slender turn of her neck, the rounded cusp of her chin, the full sensual lips, cheeks so perfectly defined that only a master could have crafted them and beneath those flawless eyelids and delicate lashes were the two most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen. How much time he'd passed simply watching this flawless beauty sleep he couldn't say, but he wouldn't have given up a second of it for anything in the world unless it meant more time spent with her, the woman who held his heart.

"Mmm, Chuck?" Sarah turned to see him laying next to her, head propped up on one elbow, eyes staring intently at her. "How long have you been awake baby?"

"I never went to sleep." He beamed a smile at her, his fingers brush against her cheek and she smiled.

"You must be exhausted. Why didn't you get any sleep?" Sarah caught his hand with hers and turned to kiss his palm.

"Not tired, besides" he leaned in to kiss her gently on the lips, "I love watching you sleep, and I think that's a much better use of my time."

"Mmm, not quite mister." Sarah moved a hand down Chuck's stomach and then lower until he began to squirm. "I can think of much more _productive_ things for you to do."

Chuck's eyes rolled back in his head as Sarah's delicate touch brought him to full arousal. Unable to take her teasing anymore he grabbed her shoulders and rolled on top of her but Sarah's instincts kicked in and he soon found himself pinned beneath her weight. Sarah straddled him, one hand on his chest the other guiding him into her until they were fully joined. Their rhythm was disjointed at first, Chuck bucked under her like a stallion trying to throw its rider but Sarah squeezed her thighs together gaining better purchase and within a few thrusts the two were moving as one. Their bodies pitched to and fro, and Sarah rode atop Chuck with reckless abandon until her stamina finally failed her. Chuck felt Sarah begin to shake, her nails dug into his shoulders and she fell forward burying her face in his chest where she loosed a primal scream of pleasure. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her body until she could barely contain herself. She gasped for breath as Chuck's body stiffened and then spasmed, his breathing so ragged it frightened her. They collapsed together, utterly spent. A delicious shiver ran down her spine as the cool air touched her glowing skin and the smell of musk and sweat filled the room. Chuck's hand brushed aside the bangs that had become plastered to her face by their exertions, and he kissed her forehead. Then as if inspired by what he saw he cupped her chin and pulled her face to his, slowly raining kisses upon her until they fell back exhausted.

"Oh God Chuck, I think you broke me that time, I can't feel my legs." Sarah let out a little giggle, her fingers tracing a lazy figure eight on his chest.

"S'okay Sarah, I can still feel them."

Chuck gave her ass a hard pinch and as she yelped in surprise he covered her mouth with his own, initiating a long passionate kiss that they luxuriate in for several minutes. When they finally separate his head lay next to hers on the pillow, and he stares into her eyes, so blue and alive he expects them to consume him. Wordlessly Sarah slowly caresses his face, running her fingers through his silky brown locks and brushing the dampened curls from his forehead. With a sigh he settles in to her, their bodies seem to melt together, arms wrapped around one another's waists and, and finally his head resting on her shoulder, her lips on his brow, he falls into a deep and peaceful sleep.

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He moved quietly about the room collecting his things, praying Sarah wouldn't wake up. He'd slipped 10mg of Ativan into her tea less than an hour ago and she'd fallen into a deep sleep within minutes. He sighed at that thought, they'd barely enough time to get in one last good kiss and exchange 'I love yous' before the drugs knocked her out. The last ten days had been incredible but they'd changed him more than he cared to say. Before this he thought he loved her, and he was prepared to spend his last days with her until the termination order came down. He was an idiot to think he knew what it was to love this woman then. Now that he'd shared a bed with her, now that they'd shared even more intimate things than simple flesh, talking about their hopes and dreams, her past and their future, now he knew what love was.

So completely did he love her now he couldn't bare to think of what would happen to her if she got the order. He no longer feared for his own life, he would die eventually – Fulcrum, the CIA, the NSA, some agency would get him in the end, but not Sarah. He knew she lived for her job, he also knew she loved him. He didn't know who would win out, he didn't want to know and he didn't want her to be forced to choose. If she chose the CIA he would still love her, he would die with his last breath being a protestation of love and a command that she forgive herself for doing her duty. But he knew she would hate herself, he knew she would be destroyed if that happened. It was no better if she refused the order, she'd be reassigned and someone else would kill him, and if she tried to protect him she would die too. No, this was the only way. He kissed her gently on the forehead, then pausing his lips met hers briefly and he felt her kiss him back, if only for a second. A whispered 'I love you' in her ear, and he laid three envelopes on her nightstand. Chuck turned out the lights and as he pulled the door closed behind him he felt his heart break into a thousand pieces.

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Billie glanced over at the kid and snorted. He'd been staring out the window now for twenty minutes and a Kansas road at 1AM isn't exactly the most interesting stretch of highway to drive down. He was about to say something when the lights came on behind his rig. Red and Blue flashing lights and the accompanying siren were enough to jar the kid out of his daydream.

"Looks like we've got company Chuck. Now'd be the time you want to tell me if you're in some sorta trouble."

"Just what I've already told you about, if they really are the police there shouldn't be any problems."

"What do you mean if?" Billie pulled the big rig over to the shoulder, "Who else would they be? Listen, you keep that crazy talk to yourself and let me handle this."

Chuck shifted and his hands disappeared inside his coat. Billie was suddenly nervous and again felt his pocket for the comforting weight of the .38. As the two state troopers walked up to the cab of the truck Chuck went deadly still, as if he were a statue. Billie opened the door to turn and look down at the Trooper, his log books in hand ready to protest that everything was in order.

"How do Officer. Listen I've got my logs right here, and I know I was going the limit, so what seems to be the problem?"

"Sir, would you mind stepping down so we can take a look inside? We're searching for a fugitive."

"Fugitive? None of them around here, but I picked up a hitcher a ways back."

"His car didn't break down on the Missouri side of the line by any chance?"

"Don't know, you'll have to ask him yourself." With that Billie slid out of the truck to make room for the Trooper to look inside.

"I don't see anyone." The Trooper leaned out of the driver's side door and shouted to his partner, "Cassidy, did he come your way?"

"No Frank, no activity on this side and the doors still locked."

"Okay, stay there, I'm going in." The Trooper climbed into the opening of the cab cautiously.

"Hey now Mister, my dog Elmer is in there and he won't hurt no one. He's as gentle as a lamb, so don't shoot 'em please." Billie backed away when the Trooper turned on him with his gun drawn and motioned for him to shut up.

"Okay Cassidy, no one in the front of the cab, I'm going to unlock your door. When I do I want you to cover me while I check the sleeper."

Billie heard the automatic door lock release followed by a soft airy thud, then two more in rapid succession. He was about to ask if everything was alright when the Trooper's body jumped into the cab as if he was being devoured by a B-movie monster. He walked slowly toward the open door and took a cautious step up only to be surprised by the sight of a silenced pistol in his face.

"Get back down Billie." Chuck leaned out of the cab, his voice was pleasant but his eyes had gone cold and his face was as hard as chiseled stone.

"N-now don't do nothin' stupid Chuck." He backed down onto the pavement and stepped away from the opening.

"Not much chance of that Billie, now let's walk around to the other side of the cab. Okay?" Chuck slid out of the cab and faced the older man.

"You killed them didncha? Killed them two cops." Billie continued to back away as Chuck advanced.

"No, I didn't kill two cops Billie. They were Fulcrum." Chuck motioned for him to keep going.

"Fulcrum? That make believe spy outfit you were talking about?" disbelief and shock make Billie bolder than he's been since the police pulled them over. "You're crazy Chuck, ain't no such thing as Fulcrum. You just killed two cops."

"William Anthony Rogers, aka Billie Rogers, aka Billie Preston, aka Tony the Hook. Former middle weight boxer turned bare-knuckled brawler, employed by the Lombardi family as a fixer and numbers runner. Charged with seven counts of assault and battery, three counts of assault with a deadly weapon, and three counts of extortion, you served ten years of a twenty two year sentence at Potosi Correctional Center." Chuck gave Billie a mirthless grin. "How am I doing so far?"

"How'd you know all that stuff." Billie stood bathed in the big rig's headlights.

"You know how, I already told you." Chuck motioned with the pistol again, and followed Billie around to the other side of the cab.

"So you weren't lying?" disbelief was wrote large in the big man's face.

"Nope, I was serious. Okay, now reach in your pocket and hand me your gun...carefully. Thumb and forefinger Billie, we don't want anyone getting accidentally killed now do we?"

With a grimace Billie reached into his right coat pocket and pulled out a snub-nosed .38 revolver holding it between two fingers he held it out for Chuck to take. "How'd you know I had a gun?"

"Thanks." Chuck took the pistol and tucked it inside his jacket. "You kept checking your pocket to make sure it was still there, I guess I made you a litte nervous." Chuck smiled understandably. "Now lets get those dead Fulcrum agents out of your truck, and hurry – we've only got a few minutes before someone comes by and sees us."

"What if someone already saw us, I mean you?" Billie grabbed the first Fulcrum Agent by the back of his jacket and pulled him out of the cab letting the body fall with a sickening thud to the shoulder.

"Not much of a chance. Didn't you notice that there was no traffic at all for almost five minutes until that cruiser came up on us?" Chuck's tone was reproachful. "Fulcrum either staged an accident or found some way to stop or divert traffic. It won't last long, when these guys don't report back in they'll send in a cleaner team to take care of the mess."

"So what do we do now?" The second Fulcrum Agent's body rolled out of the cab of the truck, and Billie jumped down next to him. Chuck motioned for him to walk around him toward the rear.

"I need you to get in the police cruiser, turn off the lights and drive it off the road right here." He motioned toward the embankment just a few feet away. "We'll dump these guys and be on our way in a minute."

"Then what happens to me?" his voice is cracking, it's obvious the big man is shaking now.

"You drop me off in Topeka." Chuck's face softens.

"That's it? You're not going to kill me?" confused Billie stops backing toward the cruiser and just looks at Chuck.

"Why would I kill you? Are you going to try and kill me or torture me for the information in my head?"

"No"

"Then we're good. Now move the cruiser Billie, please?"

"I ain't never picking up a hitcher again" Billie mutters under his breath as he runs toward the cruiser. "Sumbitch can freeze to death next time."

Two minutes later they were on the road again, Chuck examines a pistol he'd removed from one of the dead Fulcrum agents, checks the magazine and two spares that he'd salvaged and apparently satisfied he tucks them inside his jacket. Rolling down the window he tosses his silenced pistol out into a snow covered field as they drive past. Rolling up the window he catches Billie staring at him.

"If we get stopped by real cops I don't want a weapon that can be traced to two dead bodies." Chuck gave him a half hearted grinned, "Even if they were Fulcrum, it's hard to explain."

"Why don't you just tell 'em what you told me?"

"Did you forget something Billie? The CIA and NSA want me dead, tell the police I might as well walk into Langley and give Beckman kiss on the lips."

"Yeah, I guess." Billie didn't say anything for a long time until some realization struck him. "So your Sarah really is out to kill you?"

"It's her job." Chuck's eyes just fall to his hands as he stares at them intently.

"And she's really as good as you say? Better than you?"

"Definitely better than me Billie, she's amazing." His voice becomes wistful for just a second.

"Then she must still be in love with you Chuck, because if she weren't she'd have got you by now." Billie smiles at him.

Chuck thought about what Billie said and sighs. If only it that were true, but he knows she's been on his heels since he first ran, dumb luck and divine providence have gotten him this far, and he feels it's all but run out now. They approach a Holiday Inn Express just outside a small municipal airport on the outskirts of Topeka. Chuck motions for Billie to pull into the parking lot.

"This'll do Billie. I'm sorry for the trouble but I appreciate the chance to talk to someone about it, and thanks for the ride." Chuck takes the .38 out of his jacket and with one hand flips open the cylinder and dumps the bullets on the floor of the cab. He tosses the gun to Billie and then hands him a small wad of cash. "that's for gas and to get the upholstery cleaned."

"There must be two thousand dollars here, I can't take this much."

"Believe me Billie, I can afford it. Thanks again for the ride and remember to forget me."

"Shit, who'd believe me anyhow." The old man waved him off. "Take care Chuck, good luck with Sarah."

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Hot water rand over his face, pushing the shampoo out of his eyes and he let out a small sob as he tried to choke back the tears of frustration and shame he felt. _'Two and a half years, thirty fucking months of this shit!' he thinks, 'I can't do this anymore.'_ He lets out a few more tears before stepping out of the shower and stepping into a robe. He sits on the edge of his bed, rubbing his head down with a towel and stops suddenly to contemplate his hands. How much blood has he spilled? How many lives has he ended just to save his own? He could justify it, Fulcrum, Triumvirate, SWORD, gang bangers. drug dealers, even a few NSA agents. There was that time in Moab when a Fulcrum cleaner team captured him and were preparing to gun down John and Sarah. They thought he was harmless, after all he was just an untrained analyst who was wanted because of his connection to Bryce Larkin. The first two never even knew it when he slipped a knife in their backs between the third and fourth ribs, killing them almost instantly. The other two had been messier. He escaped there just a few minutes ahead of his friends, the very friends who were there to kill him. God he hated this shit.

Two more tonight, a total of thirty seven men dead by his hands. And to think he used to get nauseous when he saw someone cut themselves. Hell, it only took slitting a few throats for him to get over that fear. He sighed and reached into his bag and pulled out a twelve year old bottle of Balvenie Doublewood and a cut glass tumbler. Fishing some ice out of the bucket it drops it into the tumbler and adds a generous portion of the single malt scotch. He takes the half the glass in one sip, tops it off and then settles in with the remote. Clicking on the news, searching for any information that might indicate his activity. The reporter mentions a chemical spill that closed down I-70 for two hours but that's it. Then he sees him, standing in the background with a bunch of suits from DHS, he can't believe it.

"John Casey, you old sonofabitch." Chuck smiles as the camera pans over the crowd of Washington suits and he gets a better look at his old friend. Casey's put on a few pounds but still looks fighting fit, only with a few lines in his face that weren't there before. "Sorry about those wrinkles John, I know how you hate to leave a job undone. You'll forgive me if I don't stick my neck in the noose right away though?"

He smiles now, if John's on his trail that means Sarah can't be far behind. Thirty months on the run from the two best agents in the NSA and CIA and it all ends in Topeka. Chuck starts to laugh, a genuine from the gut belly laugh as the tension and fear of two and a half years pours out of him. He drains the glass and reaches for the bottle to have another drink. They say you can't keep a good man down, but Chuck Bartowski hasn't thought of himself as a good man in a long, long time. He wonders what that means for him?

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_A/N: Feedback is always welcome._


	2. Chapter 2: Her Infected Heart

Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own nor am I involved with the production of Chuck. On the plus side, I work cheap so if Chris or Josh is reading this - call me.

Synopsis: Sarah had been chasing Chuck for the last two and a half years with no luck. Suddenly a lead turns up and she finds herself talking to old friends, family, and wondering if the Chuck she's searching for is still the man she loves.

_A/N: Adult language and situations apply._

**Chuck versus Topeka - Chapter Two – Her Infected Heart**

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_Sand formed small piles between her toes as she wriggled them mindlessly, with her arms wrapped around her knees. A bitter wind was blowing in from the sea, and the foamy caps of the waves gleamed like silver in the light of the moon. Her hands rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms and a shiver ran through her body when she realized she was truly alone. A downward glance to her side where he should have been and all that she saw was the impression his body left in the sand. Her head jerked up and she cast her eyes about wildly, but he was nowhere, no sign of him, he had vanished. Yet when her head fell she could still smell him on her, the fresh scent of clean linen and bath soap. She screamed into the night sky giving voice to her grief..._

An incessant chirping forced her from her dreams. Not that she minded, they hadn't been particularly pleasant lately and she'd nightmares enough to deal with when she was awake. She flailed about until her hand connected with the smooth hard surface of the nightstand and then felt about for her phone. Finding the alternately vibrating and chirping phone without removing her sleep mask gave her the briefest smile, it was her first small victory of the day. _'Small victories Sarah, that's how we get through the hard times.'_ That's what he told her, and she always believed what he told her. She peeked under her mask and looked at the phone, so much for small victories. _'God not her.'_

"Walker, Secure."

"Agent Walker?"

"Astrid, we've been over this – when I say Walker Secure you don't need to confirm that it's me."

"I'm sorry Ma'am, it's just, there's been a new development in the Asset."

"Shit. What time is it?" Sarah pushed up her sleep mask and cast a bloodshot eye toward the clock radio. "3:59?! Jeezus Astrid this better be good."

"It is Ma'am, we've got word that the FBI is holding an associate of the Asset's at the Eagleton Federal building in St Louis, Missouri. Local PD picked the guy up on unrelated charges and he mentioned "Charlie Bartowski" said he'd only talk to you."

"Right, that is good. Anything else, like who this associate is?"

"No Ma'am, the FBI won't release that information at this time, but I do know that Lt Colonel Casey tried to take over the interrogation and the FBI field agent in charge wouldn't let him near the guy. Said he'd hold him until you got there."

"Okay, good." Her mind raced. "I want the Lear ready for takeoff from Sea-Tac by oh-four-forty, and send the driver to my hotel. I'll be ready in fifteen."

"Yes Ma'am, already done and I've got reservations for you in St Louis, plus there'll be a driver waiting for you at the airport."

"Good Job. Who's the FBI Agent in charge?"

"Special Agent Edward Arlette Ma'am."

"Wrap things up here and join me out there as soon as you can."

"Yes Ma'am."

"And Astrid? Stop saying 'Ma'am'. I'm not that old."

"Yes Ma'am Agent Walker."

Sarah wasted no time getting ready. Following a quick rinse in the shower, she shook out her hair and after running a quick comb through it pulled the still damp tresses into a loose ponytail. Less than five minutes later she was heading through the lobby where, she noted with some satisfaction, that despite having on little makeup and being simply put together, every man in the room, a dozen in all, was watching her leave. It had been a long time since she cared if any man looked at her the way these men did. In fact in the last three years there'd only been one man who could make her heart skip a beat, or make her feel like a school girl with just a smile or a look, and if she was lucky she'd find him again before too long.

Groaning from exhaustion she climbed into the government issue Suburban, Sarah nodded to the driver who smiled back before pulling into traffic and heading toward the airport. She reached into her purse and retrieved her Blackberry, fired it up and began going over the latest intelligence extracts on the asset. A small frown worked its' way across her lips and furrowed her brow. There was nothing here but the same useless dead end leads they'd been getting for months now. In fact Chuck hadn't been on the radar in almost six months. Not since the fiasco in Atlanta when they thought they had him cornered in an abandoned Bell South relay office and ran into a Fulcrum cell instead. There were still questions about the cover fire they'd received from a sniper that couldn't be accounted for, but Sarah knew who it was, even if she couldn't prove it.

She closed the extract and went into her personal file folder. She started flipping through pictures and text messages until she found the one she was looking for. It simply said "For My Sarah" and there was a picture of the two of them at a small restaurant eating dinner. It was the second to last night they were together. She recalled that moment, smiling into the camera as the waiter took their picture. She looked at it now and her fingers traced the outline of his face on the screen – their hands were together, fingers intertwined, and while she was looking into the camera he was looking at her, adoring her, loving her with every fiber of his being. She closed her eyes tightly to hold back the tears.

*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*

It was just after noon in St Louis. Sarah had taken the time to change into a fresh charcoal colored skirt suit, style her hair into an upswept bun, and re-apply her makeup. She calculated her look to be what Chuck had always called 'sexy librarian'. She knew the effect it had on him and since she hadn't received any information on the suspect she wanted to keep all of her options open. Sarah walked down the corridors of the Eagleton Federal Building not entirely oblivious to the heads she turned, male and female, and a faint smile appeared as she entered the FBI's offices.

She took a quick look around. It was a typical office setup, a number of low walled cubicles took up half the room, a conference table and white board dominated one end, and a small number of offices were located along an exterior wall. Sarah scanned the office and noticed one man who stood out of the pack, he was lean and muscular, with sandy brown hair, penetrating grey eyes, and rough, chiseled features that made him quite handsome. She was sure she knew him from somewhere, but she wasn't sure until he walked forward to greet her.

"Agent Walker? It's a pleasure to meet you. Again." His smile was forced.

"Good to meet you too Agent Arlette" Sarah's smile broadened, as she pointedly ignored his comment. "Can we talk in your office?"

"Actually I don't have an office here, I'm on temporary assignment, but we can use your office."

"My office?" Sarah cocked an eyebrow at him, and followed him toward what turned out to be a small, windowless office.

"Yes, your office. We received explicit instructions to provide you with an office and any assistance you required." Eddie closed the door after her and leaned against it. "This was where I worked until this morning, so as a courtesy I think now would be a good time to tell me just what the hell is going on Agent Walker, assuming that is your real name."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're asking Special Agent Arlette, and you can check my credentials, you'll find them in order." Sarah turned up the charm just a notch.

"Oh I will, 'Agent Walker'. And what this is about is this person of interest that was turfed to us form the St Louis Metro PD, he mentioned this guy, Charlie Bartowski, and wouldn't you know it, I _know_ that name." Eddie cocked his head to one side.

"You, um, have an excellent memory Agent Arlette." She smiled sweetly, turning up the charm a notch.

"Please, call me Eddie. You know what I remember about that name Agent Walker? He was the subject of a missing persons investigation back in Los Angeles about two and a half years ago."

"Special Agent Arlette..."

"Eddie."

"Eddie..."

"An investigation by the way, that I recall _you_ initiated, an investigation I was heading up, an investigation that was shut down by order of the Director of the FBI," his voice registered just a touch of frustration that was more noticeable with each mention of the word _investigation_ "And that ended up with my entire team being transferred, and myself relocated from sunny LA to St Louis. Not that I don't love it here, but it's February. Enjoying the weather Agent Walker? It's fifteen freakin' degrees outside. What's the temperature in LA? Any idea?"

"Look, if you'd just..." Sarah touched his arm, but he shrugged her hand off.

"Seventy-Eight. Again, not that I'm complaining but I am curious how you fit into all of this. See, no sooner do I run a this joker through IAFIS than the record gets flagged and I've got a two hundred pound gorilla from the NSA beating down my door to get a crack at him, but then the person of interest freaks out at 'Cop Face' and begs me not to leave them alone. Just as I'm about to walk out door he shows me this" Eddie pulls a snapshot out of his jacket pocket and pushes it into Sarah's Face. It's a picture of Sarah sitting on the lap of a handsome older man. "And he tells me his daughter works for the FBI. Now I ask you Agent Walker, if you were me wouldn't you be a little curious?" His tone and demeanor indicated that there was only one correct answer.

"Special Agent Arlette, Eddie, I can understand you're being curious but this is a matter of National Security."

"That's what 'Cop Face' said, and I'm sorry, but I'm just not buying it. I want to know what the deal is with Charles Irving Bartowski, Jack Burton, and you, whoever you are."

"Look 'Eddie' you have orders to provide me with any assistance I require, right?"

"True, but assistance can have so many, many different meanings. For example, you might require assistance during interrogation..." the implication hung in the air.

"Okay, I'll tell you what I can, but believe me when I tell you there are some things you cannot know."

"Right, who are you really?"

"You have my credentials right there, I'm Sarah Walker, and I'm a field officer for the CIA." Sarah took a breath. "And to answer your next question, the person of interest, the man in this photo, is my father. Jack Burton."

"Actually my next question was going to be who is Charlie Bartowski to you really, and why are the NSA and CIA interested in him?"

"Chuck Bartowski" She corrects him. "is my boyfriend, and he was an analyst working for the CIA. That's why I filed the missing person's report two and a half years ago." Sarah's voice is quiet and serious.

"So what happened, why was the investigation killed?" Eddie's hands are on his hips, he's leaning forward now.

"I can't tell you anything else except to say that the CIA considers this an internal matter and while I appreciate your assistance we have to keep this in house."

"And the NSA? What's Lt Colonel Casey's reason for being here?"

"I want Chuck back alive, he's important to me...and the CIA. The NSA just wants to find him." Sarah leaves the statement hanging.

"Okay, I think I get it. I don't like it, but I get it." He relaxes, leaning back on his heals. "You're not really going to try and keep this in house are you?"

"What makes you say that Agent Arlette?"

"Eddie. What makes me say that is you." He puffed up his cheeks and blew out a breath for effect. "See Agent Walker, what makes me good at my job, and by the way, I am very good at my job, is that I can read people, and you were telling me a story that just didn't jibe with this whole National Security shtick right up until you mentioned Chuck. Now I'm sure your bosses want him bad, because I've seen more spooks in this place today than I have since I've been here, but I know that you want him worse. You really are in love with him aren't you?"

"Yes, I am." She sighed.

"Tough relationship to maintain? I mean we've got pretty stiff rules about fraternization between agents, I can only imagine what the CIA has. I'm guessing your bosses didn't know about you two?"

"The CIA tolerates relationships between agents, but developing a relationship between an agent and an analyst is frowned upon." Sarah looked at him warily.

"And between a handler and an asset is probably forbidden, right?" He cocked his eyebrow and smiled.

"Y-Yes it is." Sarah was shocked that she'd let her control slip, but was impressed with Agent Arlette's insight.

"Yeah, it's the same for us. To emotional, to many potential problems." Eddie leaned forward, putting one hand on the desk. "Tell me something, do you think he's still in love with you?"

"Why do you think it matters?" She cocked an eye at him.

"Just curious really" Eddie smiled at her, "If it helps I'm betting he is, you don't strike me as someone who's easy to get over." He rapped the top of the desk. "Listen, when my original investigation was cut short all my files were taken by your people, get me all the information on Chuck you think I can have and I'll see what I can do to help you find him."

Sarah stared at the enigma before her, she thought about turning on the charm but something about him told her this was not the kind of man to play with. Instead she went for honesty. "Eddie it's not that I'm unappreciative, but you're offering to go above and beyond for me and you have to know there's a limit to what I or the CIA can do to protect you when the NSA comes knocking." Sarah cleared her throat nervously. "So, I have to ask, why are you doing all of this for me?"

He walked to the other side of the desk, reached into the center drawer and extracted a thin manila folder that he tossed at her. "I went to the academy straight out of high school, eight years with the NYPD, three years on loan to Scotland Yard, one year at Interpol, and it'll be five years with the FBI this April...that file contains the only unsolved case of my career."

She opened the file and gasped, it was Chuck's picture. "Chuck is your only unsolved case?"

"You think I'm doing this for you, but I'm not. I'm doing this for him." He leaned forward. "I've spent two and a half years thinking about this case. The Chuck Bartowski in that file is a nice guy, he has a sister that loves him, friends that miss him, and a girl friend who's crazy about him. I want to find this guy, and I want to get him back home to them. Good enough Agent Walker?"

Sarah couldn't say anything, she was afraid her voice would betray her, instead she just stared at him as he walked toward the door. He put his hand on the doorknob to leave, then turned back suddenly facing her. "Agent Walker, you'll get our complete assistance, and if there's anything you need, you let me know."

"Thank you Eddie."

Sarah watched as the figure of Special Agent Eddie Arlette walked out of her office. She let go of a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Arlette was a far, far better investigator than she was used to dealing with when it came to the FBI. If he was to be believed he could be a genuine asset in looking for Chuck, but that would mean engaging him off the books. Sarah fished her phone out of her purse.

"Astrid, put together a file on the asset for Special Agent Arlette, redacted to G5 clearance." She sat down and quietly contemplated her next move. It was a risky move but Eddie Arlette seemed like the kind of man who kept his word and she was ready to start taking risks.

*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*

Sarah looked through the window into the interrogation room. Her father, Jack Burton, was sitting patiently nursing a cup of coffee and absent mindedly strumming his fingers. Thoughts raced through her mind, starting with what in the hell was Chuck be doing with her father, and how'd he even manage to track him down? The FBI and half the police departments in the country were looking for Jack Burton, how could Chuck have found him? She grimaced at the thought of the interrogation, but it had to be done. Steeling herself she stepped into the room.

"Angel! How's daddy's little girl!" Jack Burton went immediately to his daughter and hugged her then whispered in her ear. "Honey you've got to get me out of here."

Sarah reached into her pocket and pulled out what looked like a slightly modified iPhone, turned it on and set it down in front of her. "Dad, I need you to sit down and listen to me."

Jack Burton gave his daughter a concerned look, "What is it Angel? Charlie said that if I got into trouble to use his name and demand to talk to you, well, you as Sarah Walker. You're a cop aren't you? FBI?"

"No dad, I'm not FBI, and I'm not sure what I can do to help you, but you need to help me now. I need to talk to you about Chuck."

"Charlie? He's a good kid honey." Jack leaned in, capturing her hands and giving them a fatherly squeeze. "Hey, what happened between you two? Last I saw him he's giving up ten million just to be with you, and then bam! There he is with me in Miami, and the entire time you were all he talked about, so what in the hell could have happened to chase him away?"

"It's complicated Dad, and that's not what's important right now. What's important right now is Chuck, what were you two doing together."

"He needed some money in a big way, I needed some help for a few projects I was working on. We came to an accommodation."

"You and Chuck were on the grift together?" Sarah could barely conceal her disbelief.

"Angel, he's a natural. It's that face, the kid's got the perfect face for this. Open and honest, seriously people can't wait to trust him. Every job we did it was like people were throwing money at us." Jack sighed happily. "Of course he had some bad habits."

"Bad habits?"

"Yeah, he was awfully particular about the jobs we took. No old people, no sick people, no one that couldn't afford to lose their money, yada yada yada. I tried to tell him, I said 'Charlie, when it comes to the job you take what God gives you.' But he wouldn't hear of it. Good thing the kid had a knack. I'm telling you he's a natural."

"Dad, I need you to focus. What did he need the money for?"

"Not a clue, I asked but he'd just change the subject, and you know me, I'm not one to pry..."

"Dad, I know that look. You're holding out on me."

"It's nothing"

"DAD!"

"Okay, okay, there was something, one night he was having one of his nightmares and he started calling out someone's name." Jack Burton was conflicted by what he had to say, "It wasn't your name honey, it was someone named Kaley."

Sarah swallowed hard, "Okay, did he ever mention this 'Kaley' or say anything about her?"

"No baby, just that one time. I remember it because the other times he was shouting out your name."

"The other times? How often did this happen?"

"Pretty often I guess, maybe once per night. He'd have some sort of nightmare, and start calling out your name begging you not to leave him. I just figured you'd, you know, moved on." Jack gave his daughter's arm a squeeze.

Sarah patted her Father's hand, "Right, so how much did he have on him when he left?"

"See, that's the thing. He took it all, every penny we made except for a little seed money I had stashed away. That's how they caught me, I followed him here trying to get the money back."

"Dad, how much?"

"About four hundred and ninety thousand, give or take a few grand."

"He has almost half a million dollars?" The blood drained from Sarah's face, that kind of money would make locating him next to impossible if he got out of the country. "You followed him this far, where was he heading, how was he getting there?"

"West, by car. He might be headed to Denver, that's all I know. Look, I followed him here from Charlotte, he's maybe a day ahead of me and he's been heading west since he ditched me." Jack put his hand reassuringly on his daughter's, "He's in trouble Angel, I mean real trouble, not like what I'm used to."

"Why?"

"I didn't want to say anything before, but he's not the same happy Charlie the schnook I remembered. He's gotten...hard. One of the projects I was talking about, it was a land deal, fleecing investors, you know. Charlie liked the idea but he wanted to do it big, so he lined up some fish with a lot of expendable cash. These are not nice people Honey. The reason I want the money back is because they want their money back. And Charlie? He had this look in his eyes, I've seen that look before...he's desperate. Be careful Angel."

"Dad, Chuck wouldn't ever hurt me."

"No, I know Charlie would never do anything to hurt you but whoever is after him might. Just promise me you'll be careful."

"I will." She smiled at him lovingly. "Dad, when you said Chuck was hard, what did you mean?"

"Just that. I mean, he's not 'Cop Face', I don't think he'll ever be like him, but there were some instances where we had some dissatisfied customers and he convinced them to, shall we say, re-think their complaints." He sees the look of confusion on his daughter's face. "Look, if you were to tell me Charlie could pull a gun and stare down a mob enforcer I'd have to call you crazy if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. The man's gotten some serious stones since I last saw him."

Sarah said nothing for several minutes, taking in everything her father had told her about the Chuck he'd worked with. It seemed that Chuck had learned to work the con, knowing Chuck and her father, he'd learned more than just how to swindle people in land deals. Then there was the money, he had a reason for wanting that kind of money. So far he'd followed a random pattern, never staying in any one city too long, no rhyme or reason to his travel patterns, and yet now he was moving west in a straight line, he was running from something or to something, or maybe someone. Was he running from her, or running to Kaley? Who was she? Sarah frowned. She'd no right to expect Chuck to remain faithful to her for the last two and a half years, but she'd just assumed he had. It didn't matter anyway, she had to find him. That fact didn't change.

*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*

Sarah left her father sitting in the interrogation room with a fresh cup of coffee and the menu to a nearby restaurant. As much as he'd helped her the only thing she was prepared to do for him now was make sure he got a decent meal before going to jail. Special Agent Arlette was waiting for her as she got out of interrogation.

"Did Jack give up anything useful?" Eddie gave her an appraising look.

"There was a man here from the NSA earlier." Sarah continued without breaking stride or turning to look at him. "I'm sure you were told to render him every assistance, just as you were me."

"Yes, yes we were, and like I said assistance can have so many different meanings."

"He's still waiting to talk to Mr Burton then?"

"Yeah, I told him I'm make sure he got second crack at Jack." Eddie grabbed her arm and pulled her around to look at him. "Listen if that's a problem we could always accidentally send him back to the local PD for the night, then he wouldn't be able to talk to him until tomorrow. Is that enough time for you?"

Sarah stared at him again. "Eddie, either you have psychic abilities our you managed to bug the interrogation room."

"It's bugged but funny thing – they all went dead just after you walked in there." He grinned.

"So you're psychic?" She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"No, but I can read lips." He smiled at her. "So lose your old man after he gets some food in him?"

"Please."

"No problem." Eddie started to walk away, then turned in mid step and started walking backwards. "Hey, and for what it's worth – I still think he's in love with you."

Sarah watched him turn around and continue down the hall. He was at once the most insightful and maddening man she'd ever met, and if she didn't know she'd swear he was sent by some higher power to help her get Chuck.

*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*

The conference room was just a tad too small for the dozen or so people sitting within it and the atmosphere was convivial, the sort of relaxed professionalism that wouldn't be out of place at any large corporation or government agency. Coffee and donuts scattered around the room added to the atmosphere of normalcy, and conversations between people grouped in twos and threes could be heard if one was intent on listening. Astrid Crabbe was so inclined and she cringed inwardly at the snippets of conversation that came to her.

"...She's the one from Atlanta? That was the largest Fulcrum cell..."

"...and I hear she went rogue..."

"...**the** Sarah Walker? I mean at the Farm she's like a legend..."

"...supposedly she was screwing him the entire time..."

"...She disabled an entire NSA cleaner team by herself..."

Astrid could concede the fact that office gossip was to be expected among the junior ranks in the CIA, but the worst offenders weren't juniors at all, but older CIA personnel. Worse, they hadn't been invited to attend, but had taken it upon themselves to show up. Some times, in certain situations, that would be understandable but this was not one of those times and Astrid Crabbe knew that things would go down hill quickly once her boss arrived. She decided to take pre-emptive action.

"Excuse me." when no one responded Astrid increased the volume of her voice to what her boss comically referred to as 'squeak range' "Excuse me, may I have your attention?" Better but not great. A few people, older people mostly, still stood at the back engaged in quiet conversation, pointedly ignoring her. "I want to thank you all for coming, but Agent Walker was very specific as to who she wanted to attend this meeting. So if we could have only those people specifically invited to be here remain here, I think things will..."

"Listen Miss..."

"Agent Crabbe" Astrid looked vexed. It was an older gentleman, late forties with distinguished looking hair and not much else notable about him.

"Listen Miss Crabbe, these are my people and no one is going to co-opt them and then tell me I can't attend a meeting with them in it."

"I understand your frustration Agent..."

"Agent Winston, and I'm the senior supervising agent here, so let me just tell you that no CHUMINT hump from NCS who's vacationing in country is going to convince me to allow my people to engage in illegal activity."

"Agent Winston, Agent Walker has the full backing and support of DDCIA Traynor, and we were assured you were made aware of that. Now if you'd please..."

"Listen Miss Crabbe..." he was stabbing the air with his finger while emphasizing every word.

"That's Agent Crabbe, Mr Winston." Sarah's voice was just menacing enough that it cut through the room like a scythe. A thin smile pasted itself on her lips as every head turned toward her, and her eyes went from face to face in the room, looking for recognition in the eyes of those present.

"Agent Winston" He corrected her automatically, his cheeks and neck flushed crimson with growing anger.

"I wouldn't be too secure in your status right now Mr Winston, I feel it's about to change." Sarah picked up her phone and speed dialed. "Director Traynor, we have a problem."

*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*

The conference room was deathly still following Agent Winston's untimely departure. Sarah hadn't wanted to call Deputy Director Traynor but she had a brief window of opportunity here to actually make progress toward finding Chuck and she wasn't going to let a twenty year paper pusher get in her way now. With Winston gone the other uninvited guests had left of their own accord and now she was in a room with a seven people, mixture of analysts and agents, none of whom was over twenty four years of age.

"Okay, I know you all know who I am, and I'm sure by now you are thinking that the rumors about me are true." She took a breath, "Let me assure you that most of them probably are." Sarah flashed a warm smile to the room and noticed that almost all of them immediately relaxed and a few even chuckled. "Now this will not be your normal mission briefing, because this is not a normal mission."

"E-excuse me, Agent Walker? Um, some of us aren't Field Agents so I'm not sure why we're here unless you need this much support for the operation."

"There's a reason you were all selected, and it will become clear to you momentarily." She smiled reassuringly at the nervous analyst then motioned toward Astrid. "Astrid, if you'd please."

Astrid activated the plasma screen and a picture of Chuck in his Buy More uniform popped up. "This is the target of our mission." The chorus was almost instantaneous.

"This geek?" "Shouldn't be to hard..." "What a loser..." "He's kinda cute."

Sarah nodded at Astrid again and a slide show began. A series of images flashed on the screen, a modified iPhone with an accompanying exploded diagram, a page of indecipherable script, a small plastic bottle duct taped to a cell phone.

"Who can tell me what these are?"

"The first one's a B-series improvised counter surveillance jamming device." shouted out one analyst.

"Umm, that looks like multi-part cryptographic shorthand?" Shouted out another.

"An improvised incendiary device with a remote detonator." Commented an Agent in the front.

"Good. Now does anyone know what these items have in common?"

"They're all taught in the third year at the Farm?" Offered one of the agents.

"Good, anyone else? No? They were all designed by the same man." She smiled as to herself as she noticed the look of surprise on everyone's face when the picture of Chuck returned to the screen. Sarah noted the look of disbelief now and she nodded, they were reacting as expected.

"Ma'am, you have to be kidding me, this geek created the B-series and everything else?"

"Nerd, not geek." She saw the questions forming. "He prefers to be called a nerd, and yes, he invented these items as well devising a number of improvements for our existing surveillance technologies. The first part of this slide show was meant to impress on you how intelligent he is, this part" she nodded to Astrid, "is going to disabuse you of the notion that he's somehow harmless."

A series of images showing a number of dead bodies, most killed by being stabbed or shot, a few looked a bit charred, others had been garroted, went by the screen. With each image there was the name of a city, a date, and the identity of the individuals killed.

"The Asset's name is Charles Irving Bartowski, he prefers Chuck. He has a number of known aliases but the ones he uses most commonly are Charles Carmichael, Charles Walker, and John Casey." Sarah always smiled at the thought of Chuck masquerading as Casey. "This man is smart people, genius level intellect. He is quite capable at improvisation, adaptive thinking, and he has amazing cognitive skills. He is also an extremely competent killer. To the best of our knowledge he has killed twenty-eight people. Most of these have been Fulcrum or Triumvirate operatives but that doesn't mean he won't kill us to defend himself, he must be approached with extreme caution. For our purposes he should be considered an accomplished deep cover operative skill level five." She noted the unease around the room.

"Um, Agent Walker, the highest skill rating any of us has is level four."

"You won't be facing him, I will." Her smile was gone now. "And I'm rated level six." Sarah let out a breath. "I want...need him alive, the CIA needs him alive. If he thinks you work for the company and you are perceived as a threat he will defend himself. In all likelihood you will be killed."

"Ma'am, how are we supposed to bring him in alive then, for that matter how are you?"

"I served as Chuck's handler for fourteen months, he's been off the grid for the last thirty months and I've been tracking him ever since. This **nerd**, people, is currently the most sought after intelligence asset in the United States. Failure is not an option on this mission. Any questions?"

"Yes Ma'am, if this is as important as you say, why aren't more experienced analysts and agents involved? Most of us have only just graduated the Farm. I'm the senior person here and I've been an analyst less than two years."

"Excellent question." A grim smile crossed Sarah's face, now to explain the Intersect without explaining the Intersect. "In addition to his other skills, Chuck has a near photographic memory and the ability to interpret large amounts of visual data quickly and accurately – he has almost certainly memorized the identity of every non CHUMINT asset we have, including most of our deep cover operatives. That's how he's been able to avoid a three agency, one hundred person manhunt for the last thirty months – he can spot our people before they even know he's there."

"Jeezus, there's no way..."

"People please, this will work." _'It has to' she thought_. "You are all too young to have been in the system when he was last active. He won't recognize any of you as a threat if you don't present yourself as one, and he won't attack me directly. I'll be the bait to set the trap, you'll be the net that catches the fish." Sarah hoped she was half as confident as she sounded. "Now we've got a lot of ground to cover before we leave for Denver. We depart at twenty-three hundred hours tonight, that's in seven hours. Astrid will handle the briefing from here and I'll be available on the flight out for follow-ups. Let's get to work people."

Sarah watched with satisfaction as the people turned to Astrid. Agent Crabbe had come a long way in the last eighteen months, she could have given the whole briefing herself if Sarah had wanted her to, and she was glad for that because she had one last distasteful duty to execute. She had to talk to Lt Colonel John Casey, and put him off Chuck's trail.

*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*

Sarah looked up as Casey walked into the small office she'd been given. She took in the sight of her old partner and gave him a wan smile. His hair had a touch of gray to it, there were worry lines creasing his face, and his eyes were tired. He looked old. Not that he wasn't still a powerful physical specimen. No, John Casey may have added a few pounds to his frame but he was still in better shape than most men half his age. But he was definitely tired and she knew that it was because of Chuck, her Chuck. He'd put every gray hair, every crease, every wrinkle, every worry line on that face of Casey's. She smiled at her former partner, it was not the most pleasant of smiles.

"So what can I do for you John?" Sarah's voice dripped acid. He hated being called John, so of course it was her favorite form of address for him.

"You know what I want Walker, I want access to Jack Burton."

"Not gonna happen John, not today anyway."

"Shit Walker, I've got a job to do and you know it. Don't make me call General Beckman."

"I don't answer to Beckman, you know that. Besides Beckman's days at the NSA are numbered, so why should I care if you want to call? She's too busy trying to cover her ass in Senate Intelligence hearings to worry about me."

"I don't know about that Walker, after all Bartowski made this personal for her."

"I think you've got that the wrong way around John, she made it personal for him." Sarah countered icily. "He told her to leave the families out of it or he'd reciprocate. She should have listened and left Ellie and Devon alone."

"God damn it Walker, he seduced her daughter then left her a note with pictures of them together. I thought you loved this jackass, doesn't the fact that he became a sleazy little creep piss you off even a little?"

Sarah swallowed hard, her professional mask remained in place. She did love Chuck, she always would, but she had to admit this was one of those things he'd done that made her question how far he'd fallen, or if he would ever be the man she loved again. Still, she wouldn't let Casey see that. "Actually I'm rather proud of him." She smiled as she saw the revulsion in his face. "Going after a mark like that, and right under Beckman's nose? I always said you underestimated him John. Chuck has balls, you got to at least give him that."

"Balls sure, but it was stupid Walker." Casey shook his head. "She'd have dropped the sanction by now if he hadn't made it personal."

"No she wouldn't have John, be honest with yourself." She saw that he genuinely believed what he was saying. "You didn't know did you?"

"Know what?" His curiosity was piqued.

"A few months ago one of our operatives uncovered orders pertaining to the sanction. Six months after he'd gone off the grid General Beckman contracted out to some independents to finish the job we were deemed 'incapable' of doing. She was going to have us reassigned and once we were both safely away the mercs would clean up her mess. That was almost eight months before Chuck seduced Deanna Beckman. If it hadn't been for the Philadelphia attack she'd have followed through with the plan, but after Philly using mercs became a bit unfashionable."

"Why? Why would she do that?"

"She considered us both compromised."

"Okay, you I can get. You were compromised within a month of meeting him." Casey managed a sneer. "But why me?"

"Because I didn't know about the termination order and since it went to you directly from Beckman there was only one way he could have found out." Sarah smiled knowingly.

Casey said nothing for several seconds then finally dropped his eyes to the desk. "The kid deserved to know." He said matter of factly. "He'd earned that right."

"Casey, have I ever told you how special you are to me?" His sudden vulnerability inspired her.

"Oh Jeezus Walker, save that crap for Bartowski." He made a big show of grimacing disapprovingly.

"Seriously Casey, why enforce the sanction? The CIA wants him alive, let us have him. Work with me again, for Chuck's sake, because you owe him that much if nothing else."

"For Chuck's sake? You gotta be kidding me Walker. Listen, you keep telling yourself that he's the same guy he's always been, that the last two and a half years haven't changed him. Me, I'm dealing in reality." Casey's voice was steady and cold. "Chuck Bartowski is dangerous. He's not just a threat to national security with that Intersect in his head, he's a dangerous man period. How many men has he killed, twenty-five, thirty? He's not your Chuck anymore Sarah. You've got to accept that." Casey's voice softened as he spoke those last words.

"He's done what he's done because he was forced to Casey, we forced him to." Sarah was standing now, leaning forward with her fists on the desk supporting her weight. "If Chuck's changed it's our fault. Besides, you know we wouldn't be here if it weren't for him."

"Moab."

Sarah relaxed, falling back in her chair. "and Atlanta..."

"Trenton" Casey said flatly.

"Trenton? What happened in Trenton?"

"It was just after the July 4th attacks in Philadelphia, we'd received word of a second SWORD cell in the Trenton area. We spent a week crawling all over the place looking for it and had dick to show for it. The night before we're supposed to leave for the next target location a bike messenger comes up to me with a package from Bartowski." Casey sees the look of wonder in Sarah's face and nods. "He'd flashed on a collection of former and current SpecOps personnel loitering in an industrial park, and you know Bartowski." Casey sighed. "Curiosity got the better of him and he did a little recon. Damned near got himself killed in the process, but then again with Bartowski that's par for the course."

"That's how you uncovered the Trenton cell?"

"Yeah, we 'uncovered' it because he lead us right to it."

"Wait, you said almost killed?" the concern in Sarah's voice was evident.

"We don't know the details, but when we moved in on their position we found two of their men in a dumpster with their throats cut. One was a clean kill, the other managed to fight back - his knife and clothes were covered in Chuck's blood."

"Oh Chuck, you idiot." Sarah's eyes grew watery.

"I know." Casey shook his head slowly and his voice thickened with admiration. "Say what you want about the guy, but he never betrayed us. Not like we betrayed him."

"No, it takes a special kind of patriot to betray someone as good as Chuck Bartowski. Beckman, that bitch."

"Say what you want about her judgment but General Beckman is no traitor."

"Really Casey? Well she's not much of a patriot either. I mean how stupid was she to create, train, and arm a domestic terrorist organization - SWORD?" Sarah snorted derisively. "Seriously who's genius idea was it to recruit every marginal psych profile from SpecOps..."

"They were supposed to be easier to adapt to training."

"Send them through a modified Farm Program..."

"To tweak their skill set."

"And turn them into a ghost company to terrorize American soil?"

"They were going to be an elite special response unit." Casey had suddenly become quite interested in the tops of his shoes. "It sounded good on paper."

"Shit Casey it doesn't even sound good in theory."

"I know." He looked up at Sarah with total conviction. "I told them it was the stupidest damned idea I'd ever heard, I tried to convince Beckman not to do it but she wouldn't listen to me. After Philadelphia she stopped taking my calls. I'd be out on my ass right now if Bartowski hadn't given me Trenton."

Sarah stared at Casey, her eyes burning holes through the man. "And yet you still plan on killing him don't you? After everything he's done you're going to carry out Beckman's sanction?"

"I follow my orders Walker. Regardless of how much I disagree with them, or how stupid I think my CO is being, I follow my orders."

"That's were we don't agree John." Chuck smiled fiercely at him. "Chuck taught me to follow my heart and it hasn't been wrong yet."

The two old partners stared at one another for several seconds with not a word passing between them. Finally Sarah's cell phone rang and the song 'Girls Just Want to Have Fun' by Cindy Lauper was playing. She answered it, grateful for the distraction.

"Hey, Ellie! No it's not a bad time...She told you that? I'm sorry, I would have said something it's just I didn't want to get your hopes up...I understand Ellie, you know I understand...I can't, I have company...Yes, it's him...I know...Okay, oh and you tell Morgan for me that I'm sorry I won't be there for his birthday, or the Call Of Duty challenge against Large Mart...I don't know what to tell him, but I'm really sorry...Ellie, I've got to get going but before I hang up, is Jack there? Okay, well just let him know I miss him and tell him I love him, and I'll be home soon...Thanks El, you know I love you and Devon, and give my best to the gang...Bye."

Silence descended on the office and Casey shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "How's Ellie doing?"

"Good. Tired of being pregnant and worried like hell about her baby brother, but good. Oh, she told me to tell you she hopes your well and that the massive coronary all uptight assholes like you get takes you out cleanly, and doesn't leave you paralyzed from the neck up for the rest of your life."

"Really?"

"That's the way I interpreted it."

"Still hasn't forgiven me huh?"

"What did you expect, you're trying to kill her brother."

"I still can't believe you told her everything."

"Not everything John, but enough. I was given permission to tell her what I thought she needed to know to secure her cooperation." Sarah's eyes flared. "We lied to her for so long, we forced Chuck to lie to her, I thought she needed, no, deserved to know the truth, so I told her what she needed to know. I won't lie to Ellie again, ever."

Casey shook his head and reached for the door to leave. "I can't get over how much you changed Walker. Compromising yourself with Bartowski was one thing, but his entire family? You've stepped into his life and made it your own. Is there any part of you that's still an Agent?"

"I haven't worked deep cover in over two years John, but I'm still an agent. I'm just a little more human than you're used to. Chuck made me this way, Chuck and Jack. They made me see what life could be like, and gave me a reason to take the risk and live it."

Sarah watched the big man walk out into the hallway, shoulders slumped as he went. Casey was tired of this, she knew, he was just as tired as she was. They were coming up on the end game, she could feel it and if she could she knew Casey was planning something. This was a race to the finish, and she wouldn't let Chuck down. She'd win this one for him. As he reached for the door to leave he stopped, straightened up to a near rigid posture.

With a voice that was soft and filled with sadness he said his goodbyes. "Good luck Walker, I hope you get to him first. I really do." The door closed solidly behind him.

Casey was gone but his presence lingered in the office. Part of her knew he was right, she hadn't just compromised herself with Chuck, she'd tried to hold onto him by integrating herself with his family and friends. The thing was, she didn't care. She loved the extended family she had now, they meant as much to her and Jack as Chuck did. She'd loved more, lived better, in the last two and half years than she had since her mother died, and it was all Chuck's fault. Before him she'd walled off her heart, compartmentalized her feelings, kept everything in check. He was like no one she'd ever known, he was a disease, he infected her with his warmth, his compassion, his goofy good natured grin. There was no defense for it, he'd infected her heart and there was no hope for recovery, only hope and love.

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It was twenty-three-thirty and the Lear Jet was fifteen minutes out of St Louis heading toward Denver. The mixed group of agents and analysts on board were relaxing. Some were reading files on the Asset, others were talking amiably to one another. Sarah was daydreaming about the first time she and Chuck had declared their love for one another, it was the Christmas Day after Fulcrum had attempted to kidnap him. Their feelings for one another, always so close to the surface broke through that day and she never tried to deny them after that. Smiling wistfully she became vaguely aware that she had company. Looking up she saw one of the young analysts and an agent before her.

"Can I help you?"

"Agent Walker, we were just wondering, if its out of line just say so and we won't bring it up again..." The analyst was shaking, her hands clenched and unclenched. "There's a rumor that you were romantically involved with the Asset, is that true?"

Sarah looked at them both levelly. The young analyst was pretty enough; brunette, slim, pleasant features. The agent was an equally attractive young man, dark hair, dark eyes, olive complexion, pleasant smile. The two sat so that their knees were touching even though there was enough room for them to have a seat between them. She watched them a second longer, the tension building up and when her nerves threatened to overwhelm the Analyst, the Agent put his hand lightly on hers – just enough so their fingers were touching – and she calmed down immediately. Sarah smiled at them both.

"What are your names?"

"Br-Brenda, Brenda Dixon"

"Agent Ben Grossman, Ma'am"

Sarah couldn't help but stifle a chuckle. "And you want to know about Chuck and me because you two are in love, and you're wondering how to make it work?" the question implied there was only one real answer.

"H-How did you...?"

"Please, I can read people, and what I read when I see you two is love." Sarah smiled. "That and I've been there myself."

"So it's true?"

"Probably not everything, but I'll share what I can, so ask away."

"How long... I mean, when did you two realize you were in love?" Brenda leaned in with her elbows on her knees.

"I was his handler for fourteen months, and I'd like to say I fell in love with him the first day I met him," Sarah pursed her lips. "But that'd be a lie. Honestly they were going to relocate him and I suddenly found myself wanting to stop them from taking him away from me. That's when I realized I was compromised."

"Compromised but not in love?" Ben leaned back in his seat. Sarah regarded him coolly, he had an agent's perspective alright.

"Exactly. Of course I came to realize later on that what I was feeling was love, it's just that the longer you're an agent the harder it is to separate real emotions from the ones that form your cover. It took me another six months to reconcile what I was feeling with who I was and admit I was in love with him. Once I did my whole world changed."

"Were you reassigned?" Ben again, only this time he was ramrod straight, his voice held an edge of concern.

"I should have been, but we worked to keep it a secret from my superiors, and my partner helped us hide it from them." She smiled at them both as she saw the look of concern in their eyes. "Don't let the job come between you, if you both truly love one another it's worth the risk."

The two young lovers moved to the other side of the plane away from the rest of the team where only Sarah had a clear view of them. They held hands and whispered to one another, she picked up her blackberry and added their names to a list in her personal directory. _'Young kids, just starting out.' She thought, 'They'll need all the help they can get.'_ The kind she'd have wanted three years ago. As she watched them she started to think about Chuck again, and when they finally acted on their feelings.

He'd driven her home from the hospital so of course she'd told him to stay. It was her fault really, what happened afterward. All she had was a mild concussion and some bruised ribs. She'd had far worse injuries before an never needed taking care of, but that was pre-Chuck. He was there when she woke up in the hospital and he was so insistent that he stay by her side. When he announced he'd be spending the next week taking care of her, what could she do? She never could resist it when he tried to take care of her, maybe because he was the only man who'd ever really done so. Her father loved her but he never really took care of her. He made sure she had clothes to wear and food to eat, saw to her education both normal and otherwise, but when she needed someone to listen to her problems or to hold her when she was frightened - Jack Burton was never there. _'You can't trust anyone kiddo, remember that.'_ He'd say it and smile, then usually he'd point his finger at her and say, _'Trust me angel, I know what I'm talking about.'_ It wasn't until she joined the CIA that she understood just what he was telling her, trust no one, not even him, not even her father. Then she met Chuck.

Chuck was the exception to the rule. He cared about her, who she was, how she felt, he cared about the person inside. It unnerved her. He was persistent, sweet, charming, loveable, laughable, good natured, kind, but above all persistent. In time she learned that he could be trusted, not only trusted, he could be depended on. He was there for her when she needed him. He was even there when she didn't know she needed him. When she was hurting he could sense it and he always knew instinctively how to fix her. She laughed to herself, until she'd met Chuck she didn't even know she was broken but then she met him and her whole world changed. So when he insisted on taking her home and staying with her until she was '_all better'_, she couldn't refuse him, she didn't even think about trying. Of course she knew what it would lead to, what it was leading to all along, but by then she'd stopped caring about what might happen if someone found out. What mattered to her was him, them, and she wanted him.

It was after midnight and the Lear Jet was heading due west. In the front sat two young lovers gently caressing and whispering sweet nothings to one another, and not far from them a tired Agent who was dreaming wistfully about the man she loved, and the love they'd shared. None of them could foresee the storm on the horizon or the threats that it held for them.

* * *

_A/N: Some definitions for you all_

IAFIS - Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System

CHUMINT – Clandestine Human Intelligence (a.k.a. a Spy)

NCS – National Clandestine Service – A semi-independent organization within the CIA that deals with CHUMINT.

In Country – The CIA has no legal jurisdiction within US territory except under special circumstances.


	3. Chapter 3: Get Away From the Past, Pt 1

**Disclaimer**: Unfortunately I don't own nor am I involved with the production of Chuck. On the plus side, I work cheap so if Chris or Josh is reading this - call me.

**Synopsis**: Chuck is stranded in Topeka, with Casey closing in and Sarah not far behind. He prepares for the end game and makes plans to separate himself from the past once and for all, but he knows it's not something he can do alone. So Chuck begins calling in favors, contacting friends, and reaching out to people who may, or may not, have his best interests at heart. It doesn't matter, all he wants now is to shut the door on who he was - it's time for Chuck Bartowski to die.

_A/N: Adult language and situations apply._

_A/N Addendum: Sorry for the late update – I said the tenth and I meant it, but at the last minute I got tickets to see the Blues play the Columbus Blue Jackets and it was a make or break game for the playoffs. What can I say – Hockey wins EVERY time, so I blew you all off and went and saw the Blues dominate the hell out of the Blue Jackets, 3 to 1 baby! Of course what's a victory without a little celebration and I may have had a few too many only to wind up at a post victory party where I met Roman Polak and Brad Boyes, and celebrated until the wee, wee hours of the morning. Of course I didn't manage to get out of bed until close to 3PM the next day and it seems there was this Easter thing going on, who knew? Actions, consequences and all that. Anyway, with the Wild taking down the Predators we are in the PLAYOFFS! Go BLUES!!! Oh, and here's the update._

**Chuck versus Topeka - Chapter Three – Get Away From the Past, His Story**

* * *

_Something sharp and jagged was sticking its point into his hip, soundlessly Chuck shifted his arms to allow his hands a better chance at finding whatever it was. He almost groaned from the pain, it felt as if his left shoulder was separated, bastards had enjoyed restraining him a little too much. 'Yes!' he found it, a nice sharp splinter of chert, he gingerly wrapped his long tapering fingers around it and dragged it behind him. Now if he could just use the chert to cut through the zip-tie...'YES!' He almost gasped, the thrill of two small victories in a row after the day he'd had, it was almost too much. 'Damn Damn Damn I'm an idiot.' He thought. Chuck's head snapped up to scan the area. His eyes went from left to right, in an almost constant up and down motion as he took in every aspect his surroundings. He was intently aware of every movement of two Fulcrum agents in front of him made, and of the equipment they'd brought with them. Two of them were about thirty feet off setting up a sniper's nest, and coordinating with the other two members of the 'cleaner' team. Around them lay two duffel bags loaded with weapons and ammunition, too far from Chuck to do much good. His eyes, instead, fell to a spot not fifteen feet from him where one of the cleaners had taken off his tactical belt. He'd complained about the knife handle sticking into his side. Chuck grinned._

_After they'd restrained his arms with a zip-tie they'd dumped him on the ground, against the back door of the sedan, and ignored him. After all he was just an untrained analyst, a geek as one of them put it, what could he do? He knew they were here for Casey and Sarah, not him. Fulcrum wanted the two agents dead, the cleaners had told him as much. Chuck discovered that since he'd gone off the grid four months ago Casey and Sarah had been hunting Fulcrum cells looking for him. He had no idea how successful they'd been until the cleaners let it slip. The cleaner team was about to eliminate the 'threat' to their operations. Chuck couldn't let that happen. It didn't matter that his friends would kill him if he succeeded, they were still his friends...she was still Sarah, she was still the woman he loved. Finally the tough plastic of the zip-tie separated, Chuck rubbed his wrists to restore the circulation and carefully, quietly, made his way to the tactical belt. It seemed to take him hours, but he knew it had been just seconds, it was the adrenalin in his system, distorting his perception of time's passage. He had to focus, exactly the way Franklin had taught him. Ignore time, focus on what's going on not what you think will happen. Act. React. Execute. There is no thinking involved. Thinking is death in combat. He'd reached the belt and a small breath escaped his lips. His fingers wrapped around the rough, rubberized handle, and he pulled it from the kydex sheath with a soft click. He stopped but the neither man had heard him. His two targets were five feet apart, one hunched over the sniper weapon, focused intently on it's assembly, the other was checking a map of the area and noisily rustling the paper._

_Chuck moved into a half crouch as he approached the man with the map. In his head he replayed what Franklin had taught him about killing a man with a knife. It was a slaughter house, the carcass of a freshly killed pig hung on a meet hook. Franklin was standing there, glowering at him, shouting at him through every step, 'Point of blade to the right of the spine between the third and fourth ribs!' 'Free hand over mouth!' 'A single sharp thrust into the back!' 'Cover mouth and snap head back!' 'One Fluid Motion, Now do it again!' Chuck repeated the mantra in his head, and soundlessly he slid his left hand up toward the man's face as the point of the knife pricked his shirt just to the right of his spine, between the third and fourth ribs. In one fluid motion Chuck had covered his mouth and snapped his head backward while thrusting forward with the knife. For the briefest moment he smiled, he'd done it just like Franklin taught him. Then the smile vanished. Something happened that Franklin hadn't bothered to teach him about. As Chuck held the man, he could feel his last breath, warm and moist, as it was forced out of his nose and over the back of his hand. The man's blood coursed over the knife blade, covering his hand, hot and wet and slick with life. Chuck felt that life drain out of the man until all that was left was another pig's carcass, he set it down gently on the gravel, and withdrew the blood stained knife clutched tightly in a blood stained hand. He stilled a small shudder within himself. Act. React. Execute. The entire time his eyes had never left the sniper, who had started humming to himself, proud of the job he'd done assembling the sniper rifle. Chuck frowned, the sniper had shifted position, his back was at an angle that would make a clean kill difficult. Chuck took a step and dislodged a rock, it wasn't much but it was enough to alert his target. The sniper half turned toward the sound, and for a moment his back and shoulders squared to Chuck. Now, without thinking, Chuck lunged forward knife point first. He stood up, it was lodged just to the right of the spine, between the third and fourth ribs. Franklin would be proud. He vomited._

He woke with a start, the taste of blood, bile, and dust still present in his mouth. Chuck bolted from bed and ran to the bathroom where he spent the next several minutes dry heaving. He hated dreaming about Moab, it was always the same. Sickness, sadness, regret. Sometimes it was just a twinge, and he could go back to sleep, some times it hit him hard. Tonight was the worst though, he could taste the blood in his mouth, feel the dusty grit on his teeth, the bile in the back of his throat. He didn't know why it was so bad tonight, maybe it was his time. Franklin always said he'd know when his time was up, so now when things were coming full circle, maybe his time was almost up. Chuck's nose wrinkled as he caught a whiff of his own scent. He stank of stale sweat and his stomach was still doing back flips, but his first priority wasn't a shower or pepto, it was to place a call to a friend. Whatever the dream meant it reminded him that he wasn't without resources of his own. He returned to the room and reached for the phone. It was time to call on Franklin James.

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**Cheyenne Wells, Colorado**

The sound of a phone ringing split the stillness of the night, and it was immediately accompanied by the sound of beer cans being kicked around the floor, dogs howling, and the not so gentle cursing of an old man with a fairly productive and wet sounding cough. The phone continued to ring as he hobbled down the stairs and into an tidy, but well used, kitchen. The man's crutch caught on the curling edge of a worn piece of linoleum and nearly tripping him. He reached for the wall with his free hand and steadied himself, then running his hand along the pale yellow flowered wallpaper he grabbed for the receiver, yanking it off the phone hanging there.

"It's three o'clock in the Goddamned AM, somebody better be dead or their gonna be dying." A wet cough punctuated that remark.

"Jesus Frank, you've got to lay off the smokes. You sound like shit." A softy chuckle came across the line.

"Chester? Is that you boy?" Frank suddenly perked up.

"It's me Frank." There was a pause on the line. "I need a favor."

"Shit, you don't waste your time do ya'? No 'how's tricks Frank?', no 'How's Nancy doing Frank?' just jump right in to the favor askin' why don't ya'."

"Frank, I know how tricks are. Do you think I don't keep tabs on you? Please man, you're the closest thing to family I've got."

"That's not true Chester. There's your sister," Frank hesitated. "and Kaley."

Chuck said nothing for a second and then finally managed to croak out a few words. "How's she doing?"

"Kaley? She's a tough kid Chess, a lot like you really." Frank paused then added sincerely, "She thinks the world in all of you, you know. I know you were only with her for a couple of months but that little girl is totally in love with you. She needs you Chess, she needs someone who'll take care of her."

"I know, but her mom needed me too and look what that got her. She's an orphan because of me Frank." His voice choked for a second. "You know I want nothing more than to be there for her but I can't. I can't have her with me, this is no way for a kid to live. She needs to be kept safe, that's why I sent her to you Frank. If you can't keep her safe no one can."

"Right."

"Right."

"You missed Nancy's funeral." Frank's tone was accusatory.

He sighed. "I sent flowers."

"I know, azalea's. She'd have loved them Chess." Frank's voice thickened with emotion. "She loved you too you know, she never wanted you to leave. Neither of us did."

"I know Frank, but if I'd have stayed you both would have paid the price. You know what I'm up against. Besides, thanks to you I've survived this long and even managed to even the score a few times." He chuckled ruefully. "I really do need to thank you Frank, if not for you I'd have never made it as far as I have."

"Shit Chess, I taught you how to survive you did the rest on your own." Frank started rubbing his jaw. "I will say though son, if you'd have asked me two years ago I'd have said I didn't think you had it in ya'. You're up against professionals Chess, you do me proud."

"Yeah, I'm not really proud of what I've done though Frank. In fact for a while I hated you for teaching me. It took a long time until I figured out it wasn't your fault...or mine." His voice started to falter.

"That's right boy, it wasn't anyone's fault but theirs. If they didn't come after you, you wouldn't have had to kill." He started gesturing into the phone. "Remember that Chess, you don't kill to kill, you kill to survive."

He sighed, he'd have to tell Frank about Trenton some time. It wasn't like that. He hadn't killed to survive at Trenton, he'd hunted. "Right, and even then only when there's no other option. I remember that Frank. I also remember what else you taught me."

"What's that?"

"There's nothing more dangerous than a desperate man with nothing left to lose." His voice was flat and emotionless now. "By that standard Frank I'm one of the most dangerous men alive right now."

"Alright then, tell me about it. Nothin' too detailed now, just give me the top down version." Frank hooked a kitchen chair with his crutch and dragged it over to the phone, sat down and leaned up against the wall.

Frank didn't say anything for a few minutes, he absent mindedly started playing with the bandaged on the end of his leg stump and cursing the fact that he'd left his prosthesis upstairs. He listened to everything the young man had to say, and it wasn't much despite the fact that he hadn't even sent a post card in the last six months. The kid was in trouble. The kid was family, or as near to it as Frank and Nancy had ever known. Frank knew what he had to do.

"Right, I got it Chess. I've got to take care of a few things here before I leave but I'll pick up the package, pack up some provisions and be there in about...eight hours." Frank frowned. "That's assumin' the weather holds."

"It'll hold...if you can be here within eight hours that is. Otherwise it's going to be kind of dicey." There was the hint of a smile in his voice.

"Right, I'm closing up shop here. See you in eight." Frank hesitated to say anything else then croaked out his farewell. "Chess? Don't go getting' your ass killed _before_ I get there, hear?"

There was no immediate reply and Frank held onto the receiver until he heard the dial tone. He shook his head sadly and hung up the receiver. Grabbing his crutch he moved quickly to the other side of the kitchen and started the coffee maker, then turned and headed back up the stairs to his room. Ascending the stairs he caught site of pictures lining the wall ascending the staircase with him, and he stopped momentarily at one in particular. His fingers traced the presence of four familiar figures. He sighed and continued up the stairs to his room, his shoulders sagging noticeably as he climbed.

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**Topeka, Kansas**

Chuck stepped out of the shower, towel knotted around his waist as he leaned into the mirror over the vanity. He rubbed his jaw absent mindedly gauging the depth of his stubble before reluctantly turning on the tap and fishing his razor our of his travel kit. With long, slow, languid strokes the razor glided across his face leaving a trail of smooth skin in it's wake. When he'd removed all but a few traces of the shaving cream he twisted the taps in the opposite direction and then cupped his hands to splash icy cold hot water on his face. The bracing feel of the cold water snapped his eyes open fully. He watched his reflection straighten up, took note of what he saw staring back at him. His exposed skin was still olive tinged but now that coloration covered his entire torso, a torso that had markedly more muscle definition on it now than it had thirty months ago. He tensed his chest and stomach muscles reflexively and watched with some satisfaction as they rippled across his body. He wasn't vain in any sense of the word, but he'd be the first to admit the body he saw looking back at him was a far cry from the soft, somewhat doughy man-child that had been there two and a half years ago. His eyes then fell to the numerous faint lines that crisscrossed his chest and abdomen. Some traced the arc of his rib cage, others slashed across it. In a few areas there were small circles of flesh where the skin puckered at the memory of a bullet, in others there were raised jagged areas where some other foreign material had been introduced to his body. His skin was a roadmap of pain, death, and despair. His fingers traced the outline of some of the more memorable scars until they came to rest on the edge of a patch of mottled flesh above his right kidney, an area where the flesh seemed to have melted and reset roughly. Chuck snorted. Almost ten months later he still felt a twinge when he thought about that night. Everything else he'd been through and the one scar that affected him the most came not from an assassin's gun or knife, but from a patch of rain slicked road and a burning car wreck. He pressed his hand there and whispered simply "Kaley".

The phone ringing broke his reverie and he moved rapidly to pick up. It was simply an automated wakeup call from the front desk. He checked and the time was indeed half past five, he simply replaced the receiver and proceeded to dress. He reached into his suit bag, selecting one of his better suits, a tailored Armani, he laid it out on the bed and inventoried his accessories, a Sig .357 pistol to carry, a tiny Guardian .25 for his pocket, a tactical knife, and a spring loaded baton just for when things get interesting. Those items, along with his cell phone, a digital recorder, a small spray can of ether, three tranq darts, and a few spare magazines were arranged in the order to which he'd conceal them on his person. It was a ritual he'd learned a long time ago and followed faithfully since it had been taught him. For all of Franklin's teachings he'd have never gotten this far without the help of other, equally gifted instructors like Allison or Jack, each tops in their field. He chuckled to himself. Among the myriad of drawbacks to being the Intersect there were some uses, finding people like those that taught him how to survive, no, not survive, thrive under such adverse conditions would have been impossible for a normal person. But when you have the secrets of the two most powerful intelligence agencies in the world crammed into your head? Not really an issue, as long as you know how to access them. Especially if you know how to access them, and he did. He knew how. He'd learned how.

With a renewed sense or purpose he pulled on his shoes, adjusted the weapons stashed about his person, and then checked himself out in the mirror. The suit hung from his broad shoulders as if he were a mannequin. It seemed to accentuate, not hide, his lean yet well muscled frame, and that was important. It was hard to conceal weapons in a suit like this, the fact that he did so gave him an edge. Living in this world was all about edges, edges and staying sharp. The only problem was keeping from getting cut. He ran his hands through the hair on the sides of his head, unhappy with the way it lay. Neatly trimmed, the curls on top tastefully gelled into place yet with enough wave and body to keep him from looking like a typical corporate suit, he missed the long, unkempt locks but this was Charles' look. He adjusted his collar, fiddled a bit with the suit jacket lapels and turned from side to side. The smattering of jewelry adorning him; gold ID bracelet, Rolex watch, cufflinks, were just enough to say 'powerful' yet not so ostentatious as to be distracting or cheesy. He turned again and held his hand against his stomach for a second, checking for any visible signs of pooching that would tip off someone as to the location of his hardware. He nodded appreciably that the coat's tailoring was good enough that if he couldn't see the tell tale signs of a gun, knife, or baton it was unlikely anyone else would either. He sighed. _'Time to get going Charles Carmichael.' He thought to himself 'As Mal would say, I aim to misbehave.'_

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**Cheyenne Wells, Colorado**

In and out, slow and steady, the most reassuring sound he'd ever heard. The most reassuring sound any parent had ever heard he was sure, was the sound of a child sleeping peacefully. Fingers traced the outline of her face, moving carefully beneath the drifting locks of soft brown hair, gently outlining every graceful feature, even the ones that weren't as graceful. The mottled skin along the left side of her face, still angry and red as the day it was set alight. A tear formed, as it often did when he watched her sleep, only this time it fell unbidden from his eye, and it was followed by another, and another, until one errant tear splashed upon the child's face. Frank cursed himself then, it would be so much harder now. He sniffled, brushing away the evidence of his betrayal with the rough skin of his thumb, and then smiled as here eyelids fluttered to life.

"Hey Pumpkin. Didn't mean to wake ya', I just wanted to see you before I left." The girl yawned sleepily, her eyes barely focused in the shadows of the room.

"You're leaving me?" Kaley shifted, propping herself up on her elbows. "Where are you going?"

"I got a job to do, an old friend called and he needs me to get him something so I'm going to drive up to Denver." Choking back the truth was more difficult than he'd thought, the little girl in front of him made it so.

"Will you be gone long? Can I go too?" Plaintive eyes searched his face.

"Nah pumpkin, you can't go with me. It's not gonna be a fun trip, just me driving a load of junk out to a buddy of mine, then we'll talk a bit longer than we should before I have to come back. Nothing for a pretty girl like you to do at all." The back of his fingers brushed her cheek and he smiled at her. "An' I wouldn't want my girl getting bored on me, 'cause we both know how you get when you're bored."

"I promise I won't get bored if you take me Frank, I'll be good. I can read a book this time." Kaley reached under the covers until she found what she was looking for and pulled out an old, battered copy of the Soldier's Manual of Common Tasks that she proudly showed Frank. He took the book carefully from her, flipped it open to the place she'd dog-eared in the manual and beamed a smile at her.

"Let's see what you've been readin' up on, hmm '**Performing Operator Maintenance on a Caliber .45 Pistol**'. You sure this is what you've been readin' pumpkin?"

"Uh-huh, ask me anything." She nodded, eyes struggling to stay open.

"Alright, list number four on the successful standards of completion."

"Lubricate all surfaces with a thin coat of break-free." The small voice was so confident, but Frank couldn't help but shake his head.

"It says oil pumpkin." His serious voice challenged her.

"But you always say the only gun oil worth a shit is Break-Free, isn't that right?" Frank smiled back at the child, he'd never had his own but she was as much a daughter as Chester had become a son.

"That's right pumpkin, the only gun oil worth a shit is Break-Free." Frank set the book down on her nightstand, then pulled her covers up and tucked her in. "You're tired ain't ya'? Well you get some sleep now sweetie-pie."

"Okay. Will you be home tonight?"

"Nah, I'm gonna be there a couple of days but Janey will be takin' care of you while I'm gone, and you like Janey don't ya?"

"Yeah, I like Janey lots." Kaley failed to stifle the yawn this time.

"I'm gonna get goin' pumpkin, you be good for Janey now, okay?"

"Okay. Bye Frank, I love you." Her unfocused stare and heavy voice told how close she was to sleep.

"Night pumpkin. Love you too."

Frank leaned in and kissed her forehead gently, smiling as her eyes once screwed shut fluttered gently, and the small mouth that had been twisted into a moue relaxed into a teasing smile. He sat there a moment longer until he was sure she had slipped into sleep. Standing up gingerly, he shifted his weight slowly so he wouldn't wake the child laying there and quietly slipped from the room.

Walking down the hallway the prosthetic started squeaking, and as he reached the top of the stairs Frank stopped, plucking a small screwdriver from his pocket and sighed. He hitched up the pant leg hiding the apparatus and adjusted the tension setting, flexing his ball joint repeatedly until the squeaking stopped. He'd had the leg just over three years and it was a vast improvement over the ones he'd seen on other vets down at the VA, but it needed almost constant adjustment or it would lock up and become useless. He tested it again, shifting weight between them and this time a small smile escaped his lips. It felt right, almost like a real leg again, and on a whim he took the stairs down with a bouncing step, reaching the bottom and feeling not at all like a man on his way out. He stifled a soft laugh but his ailing lungs betrayed him and a heavy wet coughing spasm wracked his body until he hacked a ball of dark viscous phlegm into a handkerchief. That was happening more and more often, and Frank knew he'd be leaving Kaley sooner or later. At least this way he'd be doing in his own terms and helping Chester at the same time.

In the well worn kitchen Frank made his way toward one of the cabinets near the sink and retrieved a heavy brushed steel thermos bottle that he promptly rinsed out before filling it to the rim with hot coffee. Reaching back in to the cabinet Frank fished out a heavy travel mug and filled it up as well before turning off the coffeemaker and emptying the basket of grounds into the trash. Taking a long sip off of his coffee he sighed. He made his way to the refrigerator, opening the small freezer and began rooting around behind the numerous packages of freezer burnt meats until he withdrew two foil wrapped packets. Setting them on the counter he tore the foil off of them. Each packet contained several bundles of hundred dollar bills stacked thickly and banded with rubber bands. He stuffed the money into an old brown grocery bag and tossed it onto the kitchen table. Walking toward the pantry he reached up toward the top shelf and felt around for a few seconds until he heard a click. He pulled back and scanned the door jam to the pantry and spotted the tell tale gap he was looking for. His fingers pried apart the space where the wood had been flush earlier, and as he pulled at it a peg board panel slid out. His hands danced over the panel, fingers brushing each piece of hardware lightly until he settled on what he wanted. He took down a well used Colt 1911 pistol, three spare magazines and a silencer, an old Smith & Wesson pocket 22 with a spare magazine of its own, and his K-Bar. He slid the panel back into place and set to work concealing his tools, slipping the spare magazines and silencer into the cavernous cargo pockets of his old field jacket and the knife into a holster on his prosthetic leg.

"Jesus Frank, going to war?" The voice was harsh and throaty, sleep deprived and more than a little cranky.

"Hey Janey, didn't hear ya' come in." Looking up as his hands pulled the pant leg down to conceal the knife strapped to his prosthetic, Frank smiled at the slightly plump, middle aged woman standing before him, giving an appreciative stare at her ample breasts that were straining against the nightshirt she still wore. "Nice of you to dress for the occasion."

Janey looked down reflexively and blushed the way she always did when he commented on her clothes, her body, or anything about her. There was something about the man that drove her to distraction and infuriated her at the same time. Her friends made fun of her for doting on him, arguing with him, caring about him, pointing out that he was thirty years older and a recent widower. Still she flushed like a school girl when he made comments like that, and Janey responded the way she always responded, by attacking.

"Yeah, well you may not have realized it but some of us are asleep at three thirty in the morning. Of course you're getting on in years there, so early onset senility isn't out of the question. In fact with you it wouldn't surprise me at all." His eye roll was all the proof she needed that he wasn't buying her act. "Anyway you've probably got something on your mind, I guess, seeing as you're packing all that hardware."

"Yeah, well, don't be worrying about what I'm packing. Listen, Kaley's asleep now but she knows I'm leaving. She ah, she woke up when I went to check on her." His sheepish grin softened. "She thinks I'm going to Denver, and I'll only be gone a couple of days."

"Let me guess, you aren't going to Denver and it'll be longer than a couple of days?" Janey pulled out a foil packet of nicotine gum and punched out a square piece, popping it in her mouth and biting into it viciously. "So what aren't you telling me Frank?"

"Early mornin' craving huh? Yea, wish they'd had that shit thirty years ago." Another wet sounding hack tore through his lungs. "Christ this early mornin' shit is killing me."

"Well this tastes like shit but it helps, the craving that is – can't do nothing about the early morning except recommend you get back in bed." The piece of nicotine gum shifted cheeks as she spoke. "Now I'll ask you again, what aren't you telling me Frank?"

Frank didn't say a word but reached into his back pocket and pulled out a manila packet that had been folded in half and was more than an inch thick. He tossed it on the table in front of Janey and she pulled the rubber band off, unfolding the envelope to get at the contents. Reaching inside she pulled out a thick stack of papers, and after briefly leafing through them she looked up to see Frank staring back at her.

"You're not going to Denver are you, and you aren't coming back." Janey's eyes betrayed a hint of shock.

"Not planning on it." He stared, waiting for the questions that were sure to follow.

"What's going on Frank, what have you got into now?" Pulling out a chair at the table, Janey sat down heavily, elbows down, chin resting in cupped hands as she waited for an answer.

"Nothin' this time Janey, it's Chess. You know the boy me an' Nancy took in a couple of years back?"

"Kaley's step-dad?" Her face twisted into a moue just like Kaley's and Frank shook his head.

"Yep, that's him. Well Chess called and he's in a spot, needs me right away so I'm going."

"Just like that. He hasn't been by but once in the last two years and then just to abandon Kaley on your doorstep like, like she was a lost puppy or something, but you're going to run off and help him. He calls and you'll just up an leave everything behind, the bar, Kaley…me."

"Yes, I am. You don't know Chess, Janey. He's not the kind of man to call unless he needs help. Hell, that's not right either. He won't call even if he needs help, so if he called it's bigger than he thinks he can handle, and that's pretty damned big. So, yeah, he calls me up and I'm leaving everything I care about behind, my life, Kaley and you." Frank leaned forward, dropping his hand down to cup the side of her face and lift her eyes to his. "I'm leaving Kaley with you, and the house and everything too. I know you'll take care of it all and you'll be a good momma to her. I know because you lover her, and me." Frank reached out and cupped her cheek tenderly.

"H-How do you know I love you, you crazy old man? You're going senile, that's what it is. This is some sort of dementia and I ought to call the police, or an ambulance…" She swatted his hand away viciously. "He abandoned you and Nancy, never even came to her funeral…and Kaley, he abandoned Kaley but he calls and off you go, Frank to the rescue. He, he…" The rest of her words were swallowed up by a sob.

Frank watched as conflicting emotions played out across the younger woman's face, the tears that had threatened to flood her eyes finally broke the emotional levy. Hands steady as his thumb brushed aside the tears that flowed, the rough skin chaffing her cheeks red as he repeated the process a number of times. When she'd finally stilled a few minutes later he gently chucked her chin until she was again looking at him, eyes red and puffy from her efforts.

"I have always cared about you Janey. You got a fire in ya', a fearlessness in the way you lead with your heart, and all that jigglin' when you laugh don't hurt none either. Honey if I wasn't thirty years older and dyin' of cancer I'd be on your ass like a tick on a coon hound. But I am and I am, and hell, you know I don't like startin' nothing I can't finish, so there was never any point was there?" Her eyes softened as he spoke, another wave of tears fell and this time he let them. "Nancy was the only woman I've ever loved or could ever bring myself to love. When she passed on a part of me went with her, and I'd be along side her right now if not for you and Kaley."

"Then stay here, for me and Kaley. Stay here for us Frank. We need you."

"You know it damn near killed her when he left the first time, Nan loved him so. Then we got Kaley. She loved that girl with all her heart and loved Chess even more for bringin' her to us. Loved him like he was her own." Frank's wistful look gave way to the determination in his eyes. "In a way he is Janey. Chess is family to me and Nan just like Kaley. Just like you. Don't matter if he only lived with us a few months. Don't matter that he hardly ever calls or writes. If you knew what we knew, you'd understand. Chess, he's a good man. A damned site better than I ever was hon', and Kaley's the proof of that. Nan loved him, Kaley loves him, and I can't help but love him too. So how can you ask me to say no to my boy? Kaley'll have you to be there for her, me? I won't be here much longer no matter what happens so I won't let her lose Chess too. I can't. Hell, at least this way I'll get to go on my own terms."

Frank stood back then, and collected his things from the counter. Taking one last look around the place, the thermos tucked under his arm, paper bag in one hand and his coffee in the other, Frank gave a long, last look at the teary eyed Janey who sat half collapsed in the chair.

"It's all yours now Janey. The house, the Bar, an' Kaley. The papers there cover it all, an' if you've got questions there's the number to your new lawyer written on the envelope. He's a good 'un and he won't screw you over like some of them bastards. One more thing, there's a key to a safe deposit box in there somewhere. Get into that when you can on Monday, it's got some things you'll need and there's something inside for Kaley."

"Frank?"

"My Medal of Honor, I-I want…it's the only thing I ever did back in that part of my life that I'm proud of, an' I want her to have it. I want her to be proud of me. Tell her about it Janey, will ya'?"

"Sure thing Frank. Be careful."

"Always am darlin' how do you think I got to be this old anyway?" He turned and left her there, not another word was said as he walked out of his house for the last time.

Stepping out onto the porch he heard the door behind him close with a rattle, and an involuntary flinch went through him. The crisp, cold air of the pre-dawn morning sucked at his breath and resulted in a violent coughing spasm that left him cursing as the paper bag slipped from under his arm and he spilled most of the coffee from his mug. Recovering slowly, he carefully retrieved the bag noting wryly that the bottom had gotten wet from the spilt coffee that was even now beginning to glaze over in the early morning cold. He carefully avoided the spill and made his way to a large metal garage where, after struggling to slide the door open, he climbed into the cab of a battered Chevy Suburban. Frank situated himself in the seat and smiled as the old beast started up on the first turn of the key. He pulled out of the garage and started down the road without looking back. As he pulled away the familiar sound of the dogs, barking from within the heated kennel, assailed his ears. They were the last part of Nancy he had, but he'd let them go for Chess. He'd let his whole life go for the man he'd come to think of as a son. The boy had a way of doing that, inspiring an uncommon loyalty, a need to protect and defend even though Frank knew better than most he really didn't need either. There was just something about the boy, something he'd seen early on.

_He looked at the lanky young man standing there, sweating profusely and despite the coolness of the night air his shirt was sticking to his back. The boy was a pathetic sight, covered in dirt, mud and other, less wholesome substances. The mess was smeared on his face, forearms, and clothing. He was panting, exhausted, and nearly broken. Nearly, but not. Frank hauled off and hocked a glob of tobacco juice into the dirt. The boy's eyes narrowed and his back stiffened, he could sense the on coming tirade._

"_Damnit Chester! What the hell is wrong with you boy? Don't you know how to listen?" Frank's eyes bore into the young man. There was no response from the filthy creature standing opposite him. Frank rolled his eyes in disgust._

"_Shit son you're as useless as tits on a boar hog. Now get yer ass back there and do it again!"_

_Frank watched as the boy turned, and without a word of complaint, ran to the end of the warehouse where the beginning of an obstacle course could be seen. He snorted and hiked his left foot up onto an overturned crate. Rolling up his pant leg he retrieved a small screw driver and began tightening the adjustable tension setting on his artificial limb. He stared at the kid while he worked and it came to him, as it often did, that he was upset with himself and not the kid. He'd tried staring the young man down but to no avail. That was what stopped him today. The 'gaze' hadn't worked for him, and that was a first. He was getting used to that with this kid, lots of firsts. He grunted in frustration. Losing the gaze as a tool, it was like losing...well losing his leg. He'd used that gaze for good effect as a drill instructor, hell he'd been known to break cocky recruits using it alone. The kid just stood their unmoved, unaffected, waiting for the next heaping helping of abuse. Nothing fazed him, not the yelling, not the gaze, not even the corporal abuse he suffered for failure. He just absorbed whatever Frank dished out and then came back for seconds. It was like pounding mush, except the kid wasn't mush and that was the problem. He might look wimpy, nerdy, geeky, but there was something there at his core. The kid was really tempered steel wrapped up to look like a geek._

"_Okay Chester, we're doing it again...FROM THE BEGINNING!" Frank looked at the kid as he turned wordlessly and started trotting. "MOVE IT BOY!"_

_The kid said nothing but got to the start of the course, rang the bell to begin the timer, and he was off. Frank watched him and noted his skills, and hence his time, were improving. Frank had been taught as a DI that you had to break 'em to make 'em, but the kid defied that theory. He was probably the slowest learning student he'd ever had, not that he'd had more than a dozen since he'd retired but still, the kid was not a quick study. He wasn't naturally athletic, he wasn't exactly coordinated, and he seemed to lack the temperament for what he was training to do. Truth be told the kid was a loveable geek, why he wanted to learn from Frank was beyond him but he showed up, day in day out at five every morning, working late into the night. No, the boy wasn't a natural that was for damn sure, but he did learn and once he got it down he never made a mistake – he was as good as they come in that respect. Hell in that respect he was the best._

_The afternoon had drug on, Frank watched the boy run the course a dozen more times. Most men would have quit, most would have been too exhausted to keep moving, not Chester. Every time he ran the course he got just a hair faster, ran it just a little tighter, made just one less mistake. He'd started off that morning taking over fifteen minutes to run a ten minute course, he ended the day by running the course in nine minutes and fifty-seven seconds. He'd run it a total of seventeen times, and when Frank finally told him it was enough, only then did he collapse. Nancy gave 'em both hell when they got back to the house, ripped into Frank for pushing the boy so hard and then into Chester for being fool enough not to quit. Frank had never seen his Nan take after anyone like that before, no one that is except him. She ran him a hot bath, rubbed him down with Tiger Balm, took dinner up to his room and doted on him like a son. That's when Frank felt something twitch in his side, he felt it too, what Nancy felt. Chester wasn't like any student he'd ever had. The boy had heart, he was determined, a perfectionist, and smarter than anyone he'd ever worked with, it was his motivation he didn't get. The young man had come so far in the last month, he'd found his way through training, he'd found his way into their lives. Chester was a kind, genuine soul, so why did he want to become a killer? Frank would have that discussion with him in the morning, before they'd trained another minute, before his Nan got even more attached to the boy they didn't really know._

The gravel drive Frank had turned down was scraped clean of snow and ice. Grimacing as the Suburban inerrantly found the potholes and bounced the contents of the truck cabin about, he smiled as the long warehouse building came into view. A few minutes later the truck came to a halt in front of the loading dock. The only sound to greet his ears as the echo of the truck door shutting faded was the crunch of his feet as he trod upon the hoar frost that blanketed the ground. In the pre-dawn sky the stars still shown like diamonds in a sea of black velvet, the moon having set only the stars and the light of a distant mercury vapor light near the warehouse lit his way. He made his way across the open ground using slow, confident strides until he finally came to the battered screen door of an equally battered old cracker style house. Frank starting pounding on the door, not stopping until he heard the bolt slide back. The door opened slowly, a small figure bundled severely against the cold stepped out into the harsh pre-dawn. Frank stepped back and gave a long look at the short figure standing in front of him, a thick quilted white snowsuit, heavy winter boots, thick woolen mittens, an old Korean War era trooper's hat and a thick woolen scarf wrapped around the neck and head until only a small slit was open. Turning away toward the warehouse the two walked in silence, two sets of foot steps, one slow and steady the other a staccato of foot falls, echoed across the frozen yard. Frank stopped at the padlocked door to the warehouse, a few moments later the smaller figure trundled up, keys in hand, and began working on the frozen lock. When the lock finally came free the two stepped into a room that felt even colder than the frigid outdoors.

It hadn't taken as long as he thought it would, the small figure was uncommonly strong and managed to move the package single handedly out of the warehouse and into the back of the Suburban. Frank said nothing, did nothing, that's not the kind of place this was. When the package was loaded he simply handed the sack of money to the figure who took it without checking the contents, because that's the kind of place this was. Frank took one look at the package and shuddered. The case was made of anodized steel, a little more than two feet tall, three feet wide and four feet long. There was a panel built into the case so you could look in on the package, and Frank had watched as the small figure slid it open to verify the contents. Frank watched but he didn't bother to look at the time. He looked now and the panel was shut, the crate appeared to be seamless – there were no visible sign of any joint or weld that he could see. If construction of the container alone was any indication, the package was worth far more than the forty thousand he just paid the small figure. Curiosity peaked, Frank's hand hesitated over the panel. He was wondering if he should slide it open and look inside, wondering if he could live with himself if it wasn't a case of his imagination running wild, but thinking clearly. He grabbed the packing blankets next to the package, and covered it with not one, but two of them. Climbing into the cab of the truck he poured himself a cup of coffee, then reached under his seat and retrieved a flask. He poured a generous measure of scotch into the coffee cup and then took a healthy pull straight off the flask itself.

The Suburban bumped and bounced down the gravel drive. Frank realized then that he'd never had that conversation with Chester, the one he'd intended on having the morning after the obstacle course run. The boy had shown up bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to start training again and Frank, well, he'd been so impressed with the boy's determination they got right back to it. Frank was wondering if maybe that conversation wasn't long overdue.

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**Topeka, Kansas**

The hallway was far from deserted, even though it was just after 5:30 in the morning Chuck was amazed to find two other guests out and about so early and room service carts threatening to choke the hallway. It had to be a Midwestern thing, or perhaps there was a convention of some sort, either way he decided the sudden company worked in his favor. He nodded brightly to the two men, both were dressed in off the rack suits and neither was particularly fit. Not agents, certainly not field agents in any case. Being farther down the hall they naturally reached the elevator first, and the older of the two made sure to hold the door for him. He nodded again as he entered and enjoyed a quiet ride down to the lobby. When the doors opened again Chuck had purposely dropped a pen, giving himself a reason to lag behind and he watched carefully as the two men made their way to the hotel's continental breakfast buffet. Letting loose a breath he hadn't known he was holding, Chuck followed them.

He gave the young hostess a cursory glance, she was cute, desperately trying to look professional, and barely out of high school. He gave her the patented Bartowski half grin and quirked an appreciative eyebrow. A blush was slowly creeping up her cheeks and she couldn't make eye contact with him so now was the time for Charles to press his advantage.

"Hey, um, Kristin. Wow, that's a cute name. Listen, I was wondering, I do a lot of travelling and I'm just not up for the whole continental breakfast buffet thing. I mean seriously, you've eaten breakfast at one Holiday Inn or La Quinta and, well, you know what I mean?"

"Totally, yeah. So you're looking for like the best breakfast buffet in town or something?"

"Yeah, something like that only not really. You know, I'm a California guy and all I'm really looking for is, I dunno, some chocolate croissants, maybe a little fresh fruit, and coffee that doesn't taste like it's made by hobos. Not that there's anything wrong with a good cup of hobo coffee." Chuck's crooked grin grew into a charming smile, and he waggled his eyebrows at the enchanted young woman who proceeded to melt in front of him.

"Oh, um, I think the Copper Oven? It's like this really great bakery downtown with like the best croissants, like almond, and date, and chocolate ones that are to die for. And, oh, they have all of these coffees and stuff like a Starbucks, but their coffee doesn't taste all burnt and stuff." She smiled shyly, looking up at him through her long lashes. "Um, you know I get a break in like half an hour, and if you want to wait I could, um, you know, take you over there?"

"Hey, that'd be great but can we make it tomorrow? I have a meeting this morning and I really can't take the time," Leaning in closer until the notion of personal space was just that. "and trust me, I would love to take the time."

Kristin was reduced to blushing and giggles then, but before Chuck could walk away he felt a foreign hand tugging on his coat pocket. He looked down to see Kristin's hand pulling back and reaching in he retrieved a slip of paper, a blank receipt with a phone number. He smiled at her and winked, her pink cheeks reddened considerably and as he walked off he could hear her back hitting the wall behind the hostess' counter.

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Snow was falling thicker now, blanketing the city and finding a cab at six on a Saturday morning proved no mean feat. Fortunately a ten dollar bill was more than enough for the doorman to hail him not only a decent cab, but one that didn't smell like a cab, that is to say the essence of stale sweat and feet was noticeably absent. Chuck settled into the seat, the cab's heater chasing the winter chill from his bones. The weather was turning worse, faster than he'd thought it would. Frank was at least six hours out and if he didn't get here ahead of the storm it was going to complicate things. Still, he couldn't complain. It was a lot to ask of him, to help him kill off Charles Bartowski, but if any man could do it, it'd be Frank.

The cab lurched to a stop then and his head shot up, instinctively checking the sight lines and looking for trouble. What he saw was another cab that had skidded to a stop and hit two parked cars. There didn't seem to be any injuries, but as they slowly pulled around them Chuck couldn't help but notice an attractive brunette, slim build, pleasant features underneath the mantle of snow that was rapidly obscuring them, she seemed to be lost as the cabbie and what had to be one of the cars' owners was arguing.

"Stop here for a second." Chuck waited for the cabbie to stop, then reached across to the other window and pushed the button to lower the window. "Hey, need a lift?"

The brunette looked around in surprise then saw the cab and waved. She wasted no time in making her way over to them, grabbing the door and climbing in.

"Thanks for the lift, it's brutal out there." The brunette began gamely brushing the snow from her face and hair. As she settled in her coat sleeve slid up exposing a good part of her wrist including a tasteful ladies' watch. Chuck stiffened imperceptibly and a moment later the newcomer cast a glance up at her travelling companion suddenly stilled.

"No problem." Chuck smiled warmly. "I'm just off to get some breakfast. There's this bakery called the Copper Oven, it's supposed to be great."

"Oh, um, really? So you're not from Topeka?" The brunette's voice was chattering and not just from the cold.

"No, no I'm from Miami, just up here on for work. I'm in agribusiness sales and support, computer ordering mostly. Sorry, here I am rambling on about my work and I didn't even get your name." Chuck had turned in the seat so he was facing her squarely, one hand resting on the back seat near her head, the other bracing himself on the passenger's head rest, effectively blocking the cabbie's view of the back seat.

"B-Brenda, Brenda Dixon." Brenda's voice shrank as she spoke.

"Hi Brenda, Brenda Dixon. I'm Charles Carmichael, but I'm guessing you already knew that." Chuck smiled warmly at her and the hand near her head moved to gently brush a few errant locks from her face. She seemed to start at his touch before relaxing into her seat.

"How, how did you..." Brenda never finished her sentence.

Chuck waited until she was sound asleep before he pulled the tranq dart from the side of her neck. He slid back into the seat next to her, sliding his arm around her shoulders and pulling her toward him. His hands concealed from view he easily slipped the CIA issue tracking watch off of her wrist and dropped it to the floor where he ground it under the heel of his shoe. He gently pulled her head down onto his shoulder, smoothed out her hair and smiled. To all the world it would look like a man comforting his exhausted girl friend.

"Hey, driver? Listen my girlfriend here is exhausted, we had a late flight last night and she can't sleep or eat on a plane, so she's practically passed our from hunger. When we get to the Copper Oven, leave the meter running and I'll just slip in and get our breakfast, then you can drive me back to my hotel. Okay?" Chuck saw the narrowing eyes, the calculating look, and screwed his smile on tighter. The driver knew something wasn't right, he'd probably been paying attention to the first part of their conversation. Damn. He slipped a fifty out of his money clip and held it between two fingers for the driver to see. "I said okay?"

"Sure thing Mr Carmichael, no problem." The driver snatched the fifty and gave him a slick grin. "Ya' know Mr Carmichael, days like today not a lot of business for us cabbies. Two hundred plus the meter can buy my services for the day."

"Let's make it three hundred, you've got an honest face." Chuck peeled off three hundred dollar bills, leaning forward so his suit jacket fell open and the butt of his pistol was easily seen by the cabbie who was watching his every move. He held the money in between two fingers and offered it to the cabbie. "Do we have a deal?"

"S-Sure Mr Carmichael. We gotta deal." The cabbie nervously snatched the money from Chuck's fingers and eyed him warily. His eyes widened when he heard what Chuck had to say next.

"Listen, Walter is it? Listen Walter, I can see from your hack license that you've been doing this for a few years, so I'm going to guess you know how the game is played. I offered you money, you took the money, so I own your ass now. Do not fuck with me Walter. I'm the kind of people you do not want to fuck with, bad things happen to the people that try. You drive me where I need to go, do what I tell you when I tell you, and I'll pay the meter and even tip you a few bills. Fuck with me and the last thing you'll think before the lights go out is, 'ouch' Okay Walter?"

"S-Sure thing Mr Carmichael. An-Anything you say."

"Good man Walter. Now get me to the Copper Oven, I'm hungry as hell and I get damned cranky when I haven't eaten."

The rest of the trip was blissfully uneventful, or what passed for uneventful in Chuck's life. Brenda remained passed out in the back seat, never moving the entire time. Chuck walked Walter into the Copper Oven, the cabbie seemed sufficiently cowed that he didn't do anything without looking to Chuck for permission first. They left the bakery holding a bag laden heavy with a variety of baked goods, a container of fresh fruit salad and three large cups of a lovely medium roast Hawaiian Kona that smelt like heaven. He directed the cabbie back to his hotel, having him pull into a darkened part of the parking garage where, as soon as the cab stopped, he slipped the tranq into Walter's neck. Hauling Walter's body out of the driver's seat, Chuck stuffed his sleeping form into the trunk, taking care to cover him with the spotted and stinking blanket he found there. It took Chuck a matter of minutes to get packed, checked out, and back to the cab. He set his bags in the back seat next to Brenda and taking the wheel of the cab drove off into Topeka traffic. He had errands to run, and three unexpected problems to resolve: a hijacked cab, a kidnapped cabbie, and a purloined CIA agent.

*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*

**Topeka, Kansas**

Flexibility is how a spy survives, it's even more important when one is running from other spies. Experiences of the last few years had taught him many things, such as the obvious solution was often the best one, and never roll into town without having options. He'd been forced to leave the Holiday Inn, but it was no real loss because he had alternates already booked. He had a cab and cabbie to dispose of, but those were easily dealt with by simply abandoning them both on the side of the road then calling in the cabbie for suspected DUI. He'd get a nice warm cell, the breathalyzer or blood test would clear him of intoxication, and he'd be detained for at least a half a day in processing. That left him only Brenda to deal with. Sometimes the obvious solution is the best, sometimes it's better if you take a more complex approach.

A rental car to replace the cab, a splash of scotch on Brenda's coat and another on her gums to dress the stage, insisting to the desk manager that their room reservation be changed to someplace toward the back and away from the elevators since his wife suffered from migraines and the play was set. All it took was a fifty dollar tip to an older, world weary bellman and there was no problem getting someone to help him 'walk' his wife up to their room, no question as to why she was passed out drunk in the back of the car just pained expressions of understanding. That was how Mr and Mrs Charles Montgomery found themselves at the airport Marriott with half the staff gossiping about her being a lush, and him being a saint.

The luggage had been unpacked, a half dozen plastic shopping bags from the local Wal-Mart and a DIY store were scattered around the bed, when Chuck could hear the sound of muffled protests coming from the closet near their bathroom. He pushed the closet door open and there she was, the lovely Mrs Montgomery, bound, gagged, and looking quite scared. He smiled at her, and motioned for her to be quiet. He pulled out his tactical knife and brought it to her cheek, carefully severing the bond that held her gag in.

"Okay Brenda, I should warn you that yelling is useless. The staff thinks you're an alcoholic and prone to benders, so if you scream they'll just assume you're awake and I'm trying to calm you down." Chuck smiled wanly. "Also, screaming would not be the best way to convince me not to gag you again, so unless you're into the whole bondage scene…" Brenda shook her head. "I didn't think so."

"H-How did you know I was CIA?"

"The watch, it was a standard GPS tracking watch. CIA issue, woman's sport model. I had one just like it, only the man's sport model." Brenda squirmed uncomfortably. "Don't bother feeling for it on your wrist, I got rid of it not long after I tranqed you. It's about a block from where I picked you up."

"Oh. Where are we now?" She asked innocently.

"Farther away than that." Chuck's level gaze never shifted, but he did. Reaching forward he grabbed her under the shoulders and lifted her up, helping her hop to one of the chairs. He took the knife and separated the restraints on her hands and pushed her gently back into the chair. "That has to be more comfortable than the closet. Be good and I won't put you back in there right away."

"Y-You should know they're here looking for you."

"Who?"

"Agent Walker, the CIA. We've got a team in this area and we…she, she wants to bring you in. Alive."

"Oh I don't doubt that's what the CIA wants, but what about the NSA? What about General Beckman? Diane surely hasn't given up on me, not after all that we've come to mean to each other." The puzzled look on Brenda's face made Chuck relent. "Sorry, the hazards of being on mission for so long, deep cover cynicism."

"I wouldn't know."

"I know, it's pretty obvious. You're an analyst."

"Really? It is?"

"Yeah, you're not acting quite as nervous and out of your element as I did the first time I was kidnapped. Actually you're doing a whole lot better, there was a lot of screaming and begging for mercy when I got kidnapped."

"You…you…wh-what did you do to them?"

"Me? Nothing, I was too busy crying like a little girl and begging them not to hurt me. Sarah and Casey? That's a whole other story." Chuck could see the bemused look on her face and smiled like an indulgent parent. "There was a time Brenda, when I trusted them with my life. Do you mind if I call you Brenda, by the way?"

Brenda shrugged.

"You can call me Chuck." He offered.

"Chuck? Really?" Brenda gave him an almost bemused look then.

"Yep, it's my name. Charles Irving Bartowski. I know, it's the Irving right? I mean naming your kid Charles isn't that bad, Charles is kind of classy and dashing, and Chuck is dependable and forthright, but Irving? Irving is an accountant's name, not just an accountant, one who get's indicted for tax evasion. I mean who names their kid Irving? Why not just go all out and name me Leslie Marion." He watched Brenda's face screw itself into disbelief. "Okay, it's been a while and maybe that wasn't my best material but it should have at least made you laugh at me if not with me."

"I'm sorry I just don't get it."

"Get what?"

"Well, you're supposed to be this dangerous, really dangerous, incredibly dangerous deep cover level five type super spy, and they told us all about the people you've killed and how smart you are with the things you've invented and what you're capable of, and…and no where did it say you were a goof." She stared at him, a hard appraising stare devoid of any fear or emotion. "You look like an agent, move like an agent, you had me in the can before I knew what was going on. We were briefed to give you a wide berth, avoid contact, it made sense then but it just…I don't get it. Who are you? Why are you so important? Why haven't you killed me?"

There was a brief, tense moment when it seemed as if the air had left the room, and Brenda was waiting for the knife that had never left Chuck's hand to silently end her life. Instead he gave her the most endearing crooked smile, gazed at her with warm chocolate eyes and laughed softly. He stood up and reached into one of the plastic shopping bags and produced two bottles of water, handing her one.

"You're going to be thirsty, the tranq darts have that effect on people plus it's easy to dehydrate in the winter." Chuck paused, waiting for her to open the bottle of water and drink, which she did without hesitation. "You are Brenda Dixon, and you work for the CIA but you are not an agent, you are in fact an analyst – that we've already established. Now let's see what we can suppose, you're an analyst in the field and one I didn't recognize which means that Sarah picked you for this mission because I wouldn't recognize you, and since you're an analyst and not an agent I'm going to assume that the rest of the team is made up of analysts and agents that I also won't easily recognize, that would therefore mean that you and they have all served less than three years with the CIA, the exception of course being Sarah herself and her little helper Astrid. How am I doing so far?"

Brenda stood stock still, absolutely unmoving, barely even breathing.

"Wow, so I was right on everything? Huh, even I'm finding that pretty impressive." The surprise in her face was matched by that in her voice.

"H-How did you? I didn't do anything…"

"You didn't do anything, in fact you tried so hard not to do anything to tip me off that I knew I had to be right, otherwise you would have tried to encourage some false assumption on my part. I was once a trusting and naïve person, much like yourself, it took a lot of work for the NSA and CIA to disabuse me of the notion that anyone is ever really trustworthy. I'd suggest you learn that sooner rather than later yourself." Chuck took a drink of water and stared at this shoes intently before looking back at Brenda. "Now to answer your questions in reverse order, I haven't killed you because I don't intend to kill you." He saw the shocked look on her face and hastily amended. "Bartowski's rules for being a superspy, number 17 _When I capture a potential ally, I will not threaten them, nor will I tempt them with false promises of gold or glory. Instead I will deal with them as I would want to be dealt with: openly, honestly, with respect and a modicum of trust._"

"Bartowski's rules for being a superspy?"

"Yeah, kind of like the rules for being an evil overlord. I adapted a few of them as necessary."

"So you think you can make me into an ally and that I'll betray my friends, betray my country? Is that what you think of me?"

"No Brenda, I don't think that at all. At least not the betrayal part. I don't want that, I wouldn't ask that of you." Chuck leaned in, elbows on his knees. "I want you to know I've never betrayed my country, or my friends. In fact I've worked to make sure that Casey and Sarah stay alive, and I've even fed them information about Fulcrum, SWORD, the Triumvirate… Look Agent Dixon, believe what you want about me, but I was the one betrayed. My trust was betrayed. I know what that's like so no, I don't expect or want you to betray your friends or your country. What I want you to do, is listen. Can you do that for me?"

"What do you have to say? Tell me and I'll listen." Brenda settled back into the chair, arms folded, her face focused intently on Chuck's.

"Okay, good. If you're willing to listen then I guess it's time for me to answer your other two questions. Who am I? Why am I so important?" Chuck's voice dropped into a harsh whisper. "Let me ask you something Agent Dixon, what do you know about something they call the Intersect?"

*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*---*

Chuck dumped out the contents of his plastic Wal-Mart and DIY store shopping bags onto the bed being careful not to disturb Brenda who was sleeping off a 10mg dose of Ativan. He wasn't' sure if she believed him or not, but by the end of his story she seemed far less sure that she was on the right side, and that was a start. He sorted through the menagerie of what would have appeared to be impulse buys to the uninitiated, and selected a few choice items to start with: aluminum foil, copper wire, electrical tape, heavy shears, a can of Pringles, a tube of superglue, latex gloves, an aluminum salad bowl, a hole punch, a ball peen hammer, a cheap cell phone, a police scanner, and a brand new Blackberry Storm. He dumped the Pringles into a napkin on the bed next to where the rest of the junk was sitting and got to work pulling the components apart. Chuck couldn't help but wonder what Brenda or the rest of the CIA would make of his latest contraption when they discovered it. He knew from what she'd been willing to tell him, and more from what he'd been able to deduce from those inferences, that at least a half dozen of his kluged together inventions were now being used by The Company in various forms. Even if they didn't give him credit for their creation, he left a certain amount of pride in that.

He considered what he now knew. Their being here was an accident, Sarah and the CIA agents had been on their way to Denver when a mechanical failure forced them down here. He was right, the team was selected so he couldn't recognize them, Brenda herself is a relatively junior intelligence analyst who handles mostly anti-terrorism work. She has a boyfriend who's a field agent and he's already promised not to kill him. The CIA really does want him back, and now he knows why. Beckman's troubles are worse than he'd hoped, she no longer has any input into CIA domestic operations at all. In fact it's practically an inter-agency war over him, with Sarah trying to save him and Casey leading the "Kill Chuck" team. Just like old times really. Also he knows now he may have pushed Beckman too far. The NSA is coming after him as hard as they are because she's been playing Captain Ahab to his Moby Dick – she's obsessed with getting him before she's forced out of office. Now the whole Deanna Beckman thing seems really pointless. His lowest point just got lower, Chuck shook his head in self disgust. Still he had to wonder, did Beckman regret sending the kill order now knowing how many lives it had cost, knowing for the first time exactly what the personal cost was when she played games with people's lives, or what the real price was that their work demanded? He wondered too at how Sarah described him to the team. According to Brenda he was basically seen as a twisted genius, deadly, unpredictable, and lethal. Sarah was using the team she'd assembled like a net to draw around him, but she'd come after him herself – that meant a change of plans. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips. Always it was Sarah. He'd felt like a second class, second rate, nobody for so long, but never with Sarah. Chuck had been more than happy at Stanford being Bryce's nerdy friend and Jill's boyfriend. He had no problems at the BuyMore being relegated to Nerd Herd supervisor. He never challenged Beckman or the CIA as often as he should have when they treated him as just "the Intersect". He'd let himself be treated like he deserved less because he thought that's what he deserved. Not Sarah. She'd always told him he could do anything and looking back he knew Sarah was the reason he was still here, still alive and fighting, because she made him believe it was true.

While he worked his mind drifted and Chuck played the what-if game, a favorite means of mental self-flagellation that he often indulged in it when he shouldn't, positing scenarios where he'd gone left instead of right, where the CIA hadn't tried to kill him and he was still working with Sarah or better still they'd quit the CIA entirely, gotten married and were raising a family while Bryce was serving penance as Beckman's cabana boy in hell. Before long he was done with the task at hand and Chuck superglued the last of the modified components into place. To the uninitiated it probably looked like a salad bowl, a Pringles can, a cell phone and a police scanner had suffered a calamitous accident and had been haphazardly reassembled by a blind man. He picked up the Blackberry Storm, removed the back and popped the SIM chip inside and extracted a nearly identical one from a clear plastic tube he'd retrieved from his pocket. Flipping a switch he powered up the contraption, then Chuck plugged a patch cable from the Blackberry into his creation and powered on the phone. He may be living the life of Charles Carmichael right then, but the grin on his face when he looked down at the screen to see the words "**ACCESSING SIGNAL**" was the same old Chuck Bartowski grin, and when he heard the phone chime and the mellifluous female voice speak he was as excited as if he'd just gotten the latest COD Beta.

"Welcome to the National Security Agency's automated switchboard. Communications control satellite 014107. It is now 14:42 Hours, Eastern Standard Time. Please input Voice Control Pattern for authentication."

Chuck pulled a digital recorder from his pocket and hit play.

"General Diane Beckman" came out of his recorder and Chuck's eyes glinted with glee.

"Voice Control Pattern verified. Welcome to communications control satellite 014107 General, you have been granted direct access to the NSA automated switchboard. Please select the function or functions you would like performed."

Chuck scrolled through the menu and keyed in his entry.

"You have selected, option six: trace and locate NSA personnel. Please identify NSA personnel to locate."

Chuck pushed the button on his digital recorder again and Beckman's voice announced "Lieutenant Colonel John Casey."

"Trace initiated" There was a pause for several seconds until, "Subject found. Lieutenant Colonel John Casey, located 43 minutes west southwest of Kansas City, Kansas. Subject is en route…travel plan filed…destination Topeka, Kansas. Notice, inclement weather may alter estimated time to arrival. ETA currently one hour, forty-eight minutes."

Chuck smiled, it was just what he'd expected to hear.

"Note, subject has requested assistance. Tactical teams Alpha One and Alpha Two are en routed to Topeka Kansas. Estimated time of arrival for tactical team Alpha One, four hours seventeen minutes; Alpha Two, seven hours thirty-one minutes."

That was not what he'd expected to hear. Casey wasn't taking any chances this time, Chuck smiled, his old friend finally showing him some respect but always just a little too little and a little too late. Keying in the next sequence he waited for the response, worrying that the answer would derail his plans.

"You have selected option eleven: assign new travel plan. To assign new travel plans to previously viewed subjects select option now, to assign no travel plans to subjects not previously viewed return to main menu and select option six."

Chuck's smile grew until it threatened his ears. '_God bless intuitive menus and lazy users._' He thought. Chuck worked his way through the menu of options and sub options until he'd managed to reroute both tactical teams, sending Alpha One to Anchorage, and Alpha Two to Portland, Maine. Before logging out he took the extra step of revoking Casey's user ID. It would take Casey a matter of hours to figure out what had happened once the Tac teams failed to arrive, but it would take him a lot longer to fix if he didn't have access to the switchboard.

His first task completed Chuck set back to work with the remainder of his supplies. Motion sensors and cheap cell phones, common household chemicals, cheap electronic toys, it was amazing what one could do with what one found for sale at a Wal-Mart. If the NSA was really serious about terrorism, they'd forget about Fulcrum and go after the folks in Bentonville Arkansas.

Again Chuck found time to think as he worked, but now he was thinking specifically about how to deal with his two former friends. Casey's and Sarah's approaches would be different, Casey would be the blunt instrument and Sarah the surgeon. It was easy to stop a blunt instrument, use an even blunter instrument. He planned on hitting Casey so hard, metaphorically speaking, that the man would be limping for a month, end of story. It was surgical Sarah he had to worry about. She'd always been more dangerous to him than Casey because she knew him better than anyone. On top of that she was already here, in Topeka, instead of in Denver where she was meant to be. What was he going to do? If Brenda didn't pan out, if he couldn't turn her into a double agent for his side, then it could come down to force. If it came down to it he knew he could pull the trigger on Casey, but Sarah? No, there was still no way, there never would be. If it weren't for Kaley he'd simply wait for Sarah to find him and end it all, but it's not about him anymore, it's bigger than that. The game was coming to an end one way or another and while he had more options now they were all 'if' options; if Frank got here in time, if Brenda went double agent, if he could work out a deal with Sarah, if Casey stayed true to character, if Beckman's successor would let it go. Too many ifs for him to deal with, too many chances for things to go wrong, and still it was his only chance to get away from his past.

* * *

_A/N: As always, feedback is welcome_


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